I'd like begin today's post with a slight pause, followed by long one, then a long squealy drawn out pause that sounds like mouse being run over by a heavy goods train.
I had to go shopping today. Sainsbury's. Total pain in the arse, actually. Thought about leaving it for another day but I only had a small bowl of stale baked beans and a pot of raspberry conserve in the house...and the munchies.
I smoked a big one and set off.
At a bus stop just outside Sainsbury’s, I literally bumped into Lucy, an ex-next door neighbour of mine that I haven’t seen for a couple of years.
Lucy’d just been disgorged by the number twenty-nine bus, along with half a score of other souls all rushing anxiously to fuck knows where.
She was the last person I expected to see and it was all a bit awkward at first, not least because I was riotously stoned and could barely keep it together.
Lucy informed me I looked like shit. I smiled wanly and thanked her for her honesty.
She asked how I was and what I was up to. How was the band going?
I answered as economically as possible.
Lucy asked how Mimi was.
(Mimi is my ex-girlfriend and undisputed champion of my heart, but more about her another time).
I said we’d split up a while back thanks, and quickly changed the subject, enquiring how things were in the
Lucy loves talking about herself. Once she gets going she can burn the ears off a person at twenty paces.
Things weren’t great, Lucy admitted cautiously. Good work was decidedly thin on the ground.
Lucy’s an actress and a terrible one at that, in my opinion.
She’d just spent a few weeks as an extra on an American Sci-Fi film being shot at Pinewood, she said, playing a woodland beast (apt casting, je pense). There is an Ibsen play she is about to appear in at a pub theatre somewhere in Islington.
As Lucy described what the play was about, my mind took off, up and up and away to the night of the only theatrical performance I’ve ever seen Lucy give.
Whilst not exactly pretty, when I was still with Mimi I’d always considered Lucy to be ‘worth having a crack at’. Not that I’d ever considered cheating on Mimi for a second, especially not with the next door neighbour, a next door neighbour that also happened to be a good friend of Mimi’s.
I was just of the opinion that if the opportunity arose wherein a shag with Lucy was - given a unique set of circumstances - the obvious thing to do (i.e. if he and Mimi weren’t together anymore for some horrible unforeseen reason, or I was absolutely sure I could get away with it) I would.
I don’t normally go for athletic sturdy types. I prefer willowy indie chicks with small tits, as personified by the lovely Kate Moss and indeed my very own Zosia.
But there’s something about Lucy. Something about her well rounded bottom and hefty baps that aroused my interested and shot her to number one in my ‘Fantasy Shag’ wank-charts for a fair few weeks.
It all began the summer I scaled a step ladder to retrieve a tennis ball from the guttering above my kitchen window and caught her sunbathing naked in her garden.
On top of this, I was convinced Lucy fancied me, a feeling based on nothing more than what I liked to call my 'finely-tuned male intuition’.
One morning when Mimi was conveniently away, Lucy called round to invite us both to a play she was appearing in the following night.
I apologised, Mimi was out of town visiting friends for a few days and wouldn’t be able to make it, but I could.
I was at a loose end, rattling around the flat all by myself, I said. I’d love to come and see Lucy tread the boards and, you know, perhaps we could do something afterwards?
Lucy thought that a fine idea.
I felt a lightning bolt of nervous sexual energy charging through my system, an erection grew powerfully as I stood talking to her.
After she’d gone, I dashed upstairs for a vigorous
I intended to take full advantage.
The venue for the play was the
It was raining heavily and I couldn’t be arsed to walk back home again, so there was nothing for it but to hit the bar to get slegged.
Now as anyone knows, a full bladder and experimental fringe theatre don’t mix.
The play was performed in the round. I took the precaution of visiting the gents before curtain up. Despite that, soon after the performance got underway, I needed another slash.
Unfortunately, the only way out of the auditorium to the loos was across the stage itself. A definite no-no, so I sat tight.
The play was agonisingly long and complete bollocks. I couldn’t make neither head nor tail of what was going on. I felt the pretentious dialogue wasn’t helped by the casts’ over acting (particularly Lucy’s) and consumed by a desire to take a wizzle, my attention began to wander like an idiot at a village fate.
I played mind games with myself, anything to avoid thinking about urinating.
By the time the play finished, my bladder was so stretched I felt it might explode.
I wasn’t sure whether he could even make it to the toilet without letting go.
Upon reaching the urinal, the resulting pee was awesomely satisfying.
I hung around in the lobby afterwards, waiting for Lucy. When she appeared, I took her back to mine, sat her on the sofa, plied her with booze and weed and then made a spectacularly clumsy effort to ram my tongue down her throat.
Lucy shot away, mortified.
What the fuck did I think I was playing at? Mimi was a friend of hers. They were neighbours, for fuck sake. What kind of cheating bastard was I?
Er…?
Lucy left sharpish with me begging her not to reveal anything to Mimi.
My wandering mind returned to the present. Time was a ticking on. I apologised to Lucy, observing her plain flat face and wondering what the fuck I’d ever seen in her and why on earth I’d risked everything with Mimi and attempted to get inside her underwear.
I had to dash, I explained. I…er…had to go to a surprise birthday party and I was really, really late.
Lucy forced a smile and said she’d better be getting on too, that it was nice to see me. We kissed cheeks in a polite but awkward goodbye.
I entered Sainsbury’s, glancing over my shoulder to see Lucy still at the bus stop staring at me.
“Need to buy something.” I hollered back. “For the party.”
A taxi brought me back from Sainsbury's. I let myself in, bags upon bags of goodies and treats spilling everywhere on the doorstop.
Weird Bob was in the hallway outside his front door. He was naked but for his slippers and held a hard-boiled egg in his left hand and a compass in the other. The egg had a face freshly carved into it with whore red lipstick wildly applied to the mouth. Bits of discarded egg littered the carpet at his bare feet.
Weird Bob held the egg up and shrugged sheepishly. “What do you think?” he gruffed through is teeth. “Looks a bit like Doris Day.”
