Pretty Woman

“For fuck’s sake Solgus, you’re 40 years old, grow up. You have a fucking child?”

“I acknowledge the presence of my earth baby, yes. But I sure do love ketamine.”

And for the record I’m not an addict I just do a lil’ bit every day.

Such sensation.

Such wonder.

It’s true what they say. . . addictions certainly are addictive.

And delicious.

And relationship-wreckers.

My wife, Oprah Winfrey, has had a gut-load. “Get the fuck out you loser.”

Gladly, tranquiliser is the only friend for me. These sumptuous white shards never complain about where I leave my shoes in the house. They provide floaty good times, which I’m searching for tonight, so I drive my 1 litre Ford Fiesta eco boost up to Portsdown hill, the local hotspot for youths to go dogging in their Vauxhall Corsa’s.

A potential floppy drug wank could be on the cards for moi. . . pervert, yes, I am.

What do we want?

To watch late teens fuck.

Does that make me a paedo?

Technically, no.

Morally, maybe.              

I envy their youth and ability to mate in vehicles without pulling a hamstring. My hammy feels tight just thinking of cramped intercourse. The pain, the searing imaginary pain. Is it time for medication?

Certainly.

Let’s have a fucking blast then.

Ok, sure.

Snifffff.

Fuck that was painful. This ket has been crushed up poorly. I can feel the shards travelling through my insides and attacking vital organs. The battle of the torso has been won by the tranquiliser, any comments tranquiliser?

It really goes to show that if you work hard, then you can the ruin the body with many shards

Hearts, livers and kidneys are overrated anyway, like vegetables. . . which is what I’m gonna’ be. Can’t wait to be a carrot.

Took my laptop on this excursion because I’m writing a book. Do people even read?

Me taking up reading was entirely circumstantial, you see I’m a bad boy and was in jail. If that didn’t happen, I never would have read one.

I also started writing the book in prison. I’m happy that it’s now finished after a failed first release and many years of work. Of course, it’s going to sell three copies and shit on my dreams in the process.

So, yah the story of the book is like yah this teenageyah who like gets kicked out of his house for having like a party yah and starts selling drugs, then he goes to like prison yah, yada, yada, yada.

Oh, wow that’s so interesting

Thank you

We all think that the stories of our lives are so fucking interesting, but the reality is that, well, we’re all a big slab of mash potato that has missionary sex from time to time. Did you cum babe?

No.

Great, me neither.

Couple more sniffs will improve the vibes in this car, for now. La, la, la, la, la.

Feeling so floaty, feeling so fine.

Feeling so floaty, feeling so fine.

Lalalalalala.

Another blast?

Yes.

And again.

Yes.

That last bump was waaaaaaaay too powerful. Forever guilty of being a pig and the instant headache confirms that I overdid it. The fact that I can’t see provides regret and a yearning to be forgiven by Jesus. . . give me a fucking piano though big beardy boy and I will play that puppy like a blind black man with such rhythm and grace. . .  I’ll tickle those ivories for days son.

With a lack of pianos but a desire to focus on something, I decide to hotspot the laptop off my phone and watch YouTube.

And consume some more top-notch ketamine of course, which improves my wonky vision this time around.

Oh yes Ross Kemp you go into that dangerous area and speak to teenagers who have weapons.

I grew up in the system

Grew up in the system

Grew up in the fucking system

And now I can only do crime

Crime

My mother was a whore

And my father a sperm donor, never met him

I love watching these documentaries about people in shithole areas riddled with violence, especially when I’m on the ketamine. One of the teenagers is showing Ross his weapon, as there’s a tap on my driver’s side window. . .

The fuck?

Ahh it’s got to be the police.

Fuck, the drugs.

Get them in my shit storage facility.

I roll the baggie up and plug it straight into my anus hole. The sharp corner of the baggie scratches my pile which initially hurts but then feels kind of nice. If I have a sudden urge to listen to Elton John then apologies to my wife Oprah and child but it looks like I’ve gone full Phil Scofield and will abandon you both, to live the homo dream.

With narcotics blocking the smelliest orifice in this lil’ body, I open the car door and stood before me is a man. He is wearing civilian clothes. Jeans and a hoodie. He’s wet, but it isn’t raining. “My phone’s dead.” He tells me.

“Thank you, I was wondering whether your phone was dead.”

“Please give me a lift for 30 quid.”

“Ok, get in.”

We go to the shell petrol station and he retrieves 30 quid from the cashpoint. I’m quite surprised he actually had the money, I thought he was going to murder/molest me, was kind of hoping that he would.

And so, the journey continues to the residence of the one they call. . . well I don’t know his name, nor will I ask.

“This is it.” He tells me. The house is located on a new estate which was a decade long project that recently reached completion.

“You know what, my neighbour sells gear. I might be able to get some off him.”

“Go ahead, I’ve got nothing else on.”

I really have nothing else going on. Dreams, aspirations, all down the drain as you settle for the normality of life. It’s very boring and lame. Nobody ever considers middle aged life. Then it hits you and the only thing that keeps you going is reminiscing on the shags of your youth, when the boners were firm and plentiful. . . the penis economy was thriving and now, well now it’s in a fucking recession.

I’m old and ugly, my wife’s old and ugly. Neither of us even want to fuck - because we’re aware of the truth. Two hippos’ causing a super king size bed to aggressively squeak once a month and twice during December. . . ho, ho, ho.

I know it could be worse and you could be stuck on the Gaza strip, but it could also be better. Why couldn’t you have just made me rich Jesus?

Instead, you send the Mohammed worshippers to Portsmouth on boats. If Allah is real then so is Santa and, in that case, this Christmas I want liposuction for dos hippos and a fucking Hot Wheels set.

To honour you Santa I will set off a bomb at Taylor Swifts next UK concert. . .

Santa Akbar

My new friend jumps back in the car with a huge grin on his face.

He’s purchased the deal of all deals. . .  three for a oner. And it’s fine by me. Fucking fantastic in all honesty. The inevitability of returning home to a scolding has been postponed too.

Woop de fucking woop.

He begins crushing the coke up and tells me how his bitch wife wants to send him to rehab. How dare she recommend this when my guy is raking in the big bucks.

Their house is a lovely, detached number with a Range Rover in the front garden so fair play to this successful drug addict. I’m an unsuccessful drug addict. . . the worst kind.

“Here you go son, get that in ya’ snooter.” He hovers a key around my nose and I sniff that lil’ puppy. . . woof, woof.

He loads himself up with two bumps and rifles another one in my right nostril, then sighs. “Never had much as a kid.”

“We have to make our own luck in this thing we call life.”

“I’m the director of a company, and yes, I might have what some would call a raging cocaine addiction.”

“They’ll never understand us.”

His eyes turn beady and paranoid. My friend becomes fixated on the rear-view mirror. “See that car behind us?”

“Yes, the smart car.”

His shoulders shudder. “That’s old bill I’m sure of it.”

“You think?”

“Mate you have to lose it.”

“I don’t think it is.”

He’s just talking at me to be honest. “Fuck, look at that person there on the pavement. That’s undercover old bill.”

“The thirty stone woman in an electric wheelchair?”

“Her and the smart car are working together.”

I take the next side road and the vehicle doesn’t follow. However, the thirty stone mega elephant goes past us in her electric wheelchair.

“Do you know what this means!?” . . . before I can respond he sprints out of the car and maniacally pushes the thirty stone mega elephant off the scooter. She falls to the ground, her body fat rippling like a Mexican wave that’s eaten tons of Mexican food in her time. . . ole.

GBH on a mega elephant has us both anxious. A necessity according to him, an unnecessary assault according to me. Mega elephants are second class citizens yes, but citizens, nonetheless.

And yes, I know I said that I’m fat, it’s similar to a post-Christmas pudge. So, I have every right to discriminate against the super obese.

We sit in silence for a while. The vibrations of the ford are unbearable and my leg is nervously tapping away. So is his. Luckily more cocaine is distributed which temporarily halts the tension.

His fixation on police has gone and I hope it fucking stays that way. Is it worth putting up with this psycho for free drugs?

Yes.

After a hefty bump he begins acting fidgety, as if he wants to ask something.

“You ok?”

He hesitates, then replies. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“What for?”

“A prostitute, you in?”

“Nah I’m good thanks, but by all means make the necessary enquiries for yourself.”

There are websites for sex workers which is crazy. You put in your postcode, and it displays the poor sex slaves in the area. If you want to get scientific then ethnicity can be specified.

Due to this research that I’m conducting, I’d like to feel the warmth of a black girl’s pussy. The legends say that they taste like Bourneville chocolate.

“Hi yes, do you do MMF?”

The fuck is MMF?

“Oh yes, you do provide MMF? Clear your schedule and ready the lubricant. I’m a sucker for elderberry.” He pauses, then hysterically laughs. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA.”

Hurry up and finish the fucking call will you. Inform us all on what you speak of. He’s fucking taking ages and this is the consequence of constantly agreeing to terms and conditions without reading them.

I’ve signed my butthole away to a pimp.

Maybe one day I’ll climb the hooker ranks and become bottom bitch. . . will you love me now Ray-Ray?

“Ok, see you soon. Thanks, bye.” He ends the call and fist pumps the air in erotic joy. “Kerching. It’s on baby.”

“Good for you. Just one thing that needs clearing up. What do you mean by MMF?”

“Male, Male, female.”

“Male, Male, female?” I repeat.

“What a way to solidify a fantastic morning. Me, you, and a haggard lady of the night with father issues.”

“Mate I don’t want to participate in a threesome with you and a prostitute.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Definitely.”

“Okok, no worries bro.”

He phones another number. “Hi yes, I was wondering if you do MMF?”

Fucking hell mush. He’s already booked one. And I’ve told him no the rapey fuck. No doesn’t mean no in this guys world, apparently no means that you will in fact be present for the fucking MMF. . . “Bro, I don’t want to do a three way.”

He gestures for me to wait a second.

Fuck me this guy is forward with the MMF’s. I bet when he has people over his house for dinner they serve MMF’s for pudding. Shit, I used to love watching WWF wrestling as a kid and loved seeing Randy Orton RKO people through tables, but I never wondered how he’d fare in a spitroast.

He finishes the call. “In hindsight I may have been slightly forthcoming in the whole MMF situation. I should have asked for your consent. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok, I would love to do more cocaine with you.”

“I’m so glad that you said that. There’s a prostitute and we can go to her house for cocaine related activities.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Ahh what the heck.”

*

A high-rise block of flats is exactly what I had in mind. We buzz number 15 and the entrance doors open. Does the elevator smell like shit?

No.

But the stench of piss is mighty strong.

“You been here before?”

“Oh yeah she’s a diamond.”

The lights in the lift suddenly shut off and the lift smells like shit now because I’ve nervous farted 3 times.

“Eurgh that fucking stinks.”

“Well, you’ve taken me to hell.”

“It’s just a light blackout, stop being a pussy.”

This guy is going to get me fucking killed. That’s what you get for sitting in your car, sniffing ketamine and picking up strangers.

“It’s all part of the experience.”

I nod and the lift comes to a stop. The doors stutter open and I can’t get out fast enough. Flat 15 is left open a crack. We enter.

Carpets?

Pffft.

No flooring round here, floorboards are on show and if I’m offered a drink then I’m taking it. You have to live the full experience of the shithole prostitute flat. Flat Coca-Cola in a dirty glass, yes fucking please.

The front room has two mismatched sofas, a leathery number with one of the cushions missing. And a grey suede beauty with filth and bodily fluids attached to the fibres.

The wallpaper is peeling off the walls in the gaffe and a cracked mirror tells me I’m in the flat of broken dreams and beaten-up vaginas. Sometimes you gotta’ elbow drop a pussy right in the hole to get things started. Especially when it’s seen as much action as this gals.

“You boys need anything before we get this MMF show on the road?” Enquires the lady of the night.

“Sadly, the three way is off. Just me and you baby.”

She gives me evils. “Well, you’re still paying the extra. Mr Norris here needs to be neutered. Three pregnant kittys have knocked on my door. We can’t support all of these cat babies, you think we’re made of money Mr Norris?”

“Meow.”

“That’s enough of the backchat Mr Norris. Sorry guys.”

“Come on baby.” They leave for the bedroom, and I’m sat on the grey suede sofa that fucking stinks of cat piss.

Mr Norris is sat in front of me, staring intently.

“Fuck of Mr Norris.”

“Meow.”

“No, I won’t free you.”

“Meow.”

“Well, no I wouldn’t want to have my balls chopped off.”

“Meow.”

“What? She touches you Mr Norris?”

“Meow.”

“Ok, I’ll open the door and you can run out and start the life you deserve.”

I open the door and Mr Norris runs out. Hopefully he knows how to work a lift.

“Uhh, uhh.” Begins echoing through the walls. I will admit that it gives me a cocaine fuelled semi erection, which I smack. “We said no to the MMF, behave yourself young penis.”

At least he left coke out for me on the table. Be rude not to have a lil’ sniffle.

One more.

And another.

Lovely stuff. The ‘uhh uhh’s’ continue through the walls but those last three bumps provided the boner cemetery I was hoping for. A Prime Jennifer Lopez couldn’t get this flopster hard.

I stand up and stare at the cracked mirror which distorts my face. Very apt for how discombobulated I am feeling. I guess it makes sense to do another bump.

“Fucking hell save some for me.”

“Sorry mate, here you go. And you were quick.”

“Even on the gear it takes me just one minute, I like it that way now that I’m older.”

“Thank you for your honesty.”

He pulls out a secondary bag from his inner coat pocket and racks up a couple of lines on the tea-stained table. Before we can sniff them, the door is buzzed. The hooker answers.

A gigantic black man comes through. I’m talking Shaquille O’Neal gigantic too. I would not like to be on the receiving end of his colossal, throbbing, member for supper, brunch or tea.  “Sup.” He says, as he walks on by.

Shaquille O’Neal goes into the room with the hooker so she can play around with his enormous basketballs and friends. His dick is 12 inches at a minimum, how the fuck is he the same species as me?

What comes next is thunderous roars and screaming. She sounds like a screeching fox, a nuclear missile warning siren and at this point it’s unclear whether it’s pain or enjoyment. . . occupational hazard is what you’d call that one.

“I love her.” Says my random friend, as he’s listening to her pussy being harvested by Shaquille O’Neal.

“Is the love true?”

“Yes, the love is true.”

“What are you waiting around here for then? Go and get your gal, son.”

He leaps up off the sofa like a salmon in love with a prostitute that’s being smashed in by Shaquille O’Neal and boots open the bedroom door. “What are you doing man?” Says Shaquille O’Neal in a deep baritone.

“Something I should of done a long time ago.” He gets down on one knee. “Destiny, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”

He picks her up and runs out of the room, holding the hooker in his arms. She has a blanket wrapped around her and there’s a johnny hanging out of her vagina.

“Hopefully we can catch the McDonalds breakfast.” He says.

“You’re so romantic!”

The johnny falls out of her vagina and slaps against the floor, splattering my ankle in jizz. . .

Pretty woman walking down the street

Pretty woman la, la, la, yeah, meet