Apparently, the oldest Chimpanzee in recorded history is Cheetah, you know, the one that was in the original Tarzan films? He’s in his seventies now. Amazing, the fucker was a movie star, has overcome addictions to booze and cigars…surely there’s an Oscars lifetime achievement award in the offing?
You know, the one obsessed about dogs?
She stood on my doorstep, all wayward hair and shabby dark clothing, asking if I remembered her.
Yeah, of course, (but what was she doing here? Had I invited her round in the midst of an alcoholic haze?).
No.
I’d apparently offered the use of my Voodoo Vibe guitar effects pedal for a recording session she and The Lenas have tomorrow.
Ah, right.
She was Tallulah, by the way.
Oddly, we shook hands, something I always find strange with a girl. How hard should one squeeze? Too hard and one fears one might crush a few fragile lady bones, too soft and she might think one a wimp.
I invited her in. As she passed, I caught a strong whiff of booze.
In my front room she asked, brazenly as you like, if I had anything to drink about the place. Some white wine, perhaps?
I did.
Well, was it okay to have some?
Sure.
Not wanting to waste any of my good stuff, I set off for the box of shit paint stripper someone had left in my fridge over Christmas.
Tallulah followed me down the hall, speaking in torrents, an intriguing accent that I couldn’t quite place. She broke off briefly to down her first glass of white wine in one, and came back with more.
As she chuntered on, my eyes were drawn to a small tattoo of a rose peeping out if her top on her right breast.
Tallulah wiped some stray wine from her chin and looked down. “You like it?"
"Yeah."
"That's my favourite.”
“You’ve got others?”
“Three, last time I counted.”
I checked her up and down. None were visible. “You must keep them well hidden.”
“I do.”
“Where?”
“In secret places.”
Ooh, here was a creature I felt no sexual appetite for, and yet I there was an unexpected twitch deep down in my privates.
“So, um,” I coughed. “How secret are we talking here?”
Tallulah smiled coyly and swirled the wine in the glass round. “Top secret.”
Next thing I know, she's undone the first couple of buttons on her jeans, pulled down a pair of purple knickers and exposed a tattoo of an angel on her right arse cheek.
And I couldn't help it. I found myself reaching out and caressing that arse cheek, as though I had every right to.
Then we were snogging, and hard, tearing animalistically at each others' apparel.
I dragged her down the hall into bed and we got stuck in, her on top, clawing viciously at my buttocks with long purple nails, kissing the very life out of me.
She broke off with sly eyes, and began licking her way down my chest and stomach.
Yes, it was to be fellatio of the most wicked kind.
And then, ahhhh, 'twas like dumping me old chap in a warm vat of marmalade.
And as she tugged away enthusiastically on my tumescent man handle, my eyes a-rollin like marbles in their sockets, without warning, a pinky forced its way up my bum.
I damn near hurled her half-way across the room with the shock of it.
Poor girl ended up on the floor laughing hysterically .
"Sorry...involuntary spasm...it's just, I...uh, have an aversion to foreign objects entering my A-hole."
The sex was brief and remarkable only because I kept my boots and socks on throughout.
Afterwards, I just wanted to get rid of her.
I actually felt mild revulsion at what had occurred, who I'd just pronged. I'd been invaded, in my home, for sex. And the loan of an effects pedal.
Thankfully, as I was preparing an elaborate lie as to why she had to leave, she announced was in a hurry.
She gathered her clothes and disappeared off to the bathroom.
From the moment she rang the bell, to the moment she stepped out the front door saying thanks and that she'd return the pedal in a couple of days took no more than 15 minutes, tops.
She left nothing but a wet patch on her side of the bed and, curiously, chunks of purple sick in the bathroom sink.
Was it me or the wine?
I know not.
Anyway, that surreal event triggered the creation of my latest poem, which I’ve written down for you.
Marvin was always starvin’
He didn’t have much for lunch
But he could punch
He became the champion, WBC
Now he’s haggling on the markets
