Five Words that Kill

"No he's not my boyfriend"

she says yet again

to yet another stud

and the world around me is drowned out

by the thoughts of him fucking her.

Fucking those fucked up problems out of her head

for one night

and maybe the morning.

I try to take my mind off the inevitable nightmares

with a lapdance

but she's got nothing on her.

The only thing in common they have is:

No Touching.

Olfactory Pursuit

Her odour is so strong and powerful

that when I scratch a spot on my nose
the car almost spins off the road

I must have washed her juice off three times

but it's persistent

just like this pustule.

"You will be mine!" her scent promises me

biological warfare on my cock

it's roots may be sticky

but it can never grip

as it doesn't intoxicate me

I don't want to dab it on my wrists in the morning

and lose myself in its symphony
of pleasures to come
that's why I'll never stay overnight.

Eva

The fluorescent sign reads "Swedish Model - 1st Floor"
but the grotty, bare splintering stairs read "Late night in Soho".
I mount the stairs
and knock at the door.
Eva answers.
Usually she's out of my league
but somethings brought her down to my level.
Drugs?
Debts?
Things I'd rather not think about?
"Are you coming in, baby?" she purrs
in a voice more Eastern Bloc than Eastern Stockholm.
Uniforms adorn the wall like an x rated fancy dress shop.
She hands me a menu.
The uniforms cost extra.
You can't fuck a uniform
so I just pay for oral and positions.
There's no kissing offered.
Fuck.
It doesn't feel real if you can't tongue.
I hand over £40
and a £2 coin for the maid.
What does the maid do?
I mean, look at the state of the carpet.
Grime from all over the city coats it.
And probably much worse.
Eva spreads her legs
and I see her sweet pussy.
It's neatly tucked in
and only spoiled by what I hope are razor cuts

and not herpes.
The sex is mechanical and requires lube
but she slaps my arse as I fuck her
which takes talent.
The beer's making it hard to come

I pay for 10 more minutes

and force it out.
She watches me dress and makes small talk about my journey home
for a moment I think she cares
but she doesn't.
I leave and pray I won't give my girlfriend herpes.

The Curves

She sees me across the crowded pub.
BENNY! She screams.
I look over and my cock begins to harden
those curves
sweet Jesus!
Looking at them packed into that dress makes me think anything’s possible
she’s drunk
it brings out the best in her
the wildness makes those curves even more appealing
imagine trying to control them
holding those powerful thighs down
Heaven.
She puts her arm round me and I follow suit
my fingers grab hold of some fat under her armpit
it’s firm and enveloping
my cock can’t get any harder
I could do this for a living
Benny Roberts - professional curve handler.
She tells me she loves me
I tell her the same.
We approach the bar
I walk
she stumbles.
We hit the Jagermeisters
everything crap evaporates
work
money
prospects.
And then, with a peck on the cheek, she’s gone
to find someone who makes her feel a way I never can
and that’s how it’s always going to be.

Desperate Days

She was like a cigarette butt
screwed up
unwanted,
nicotine stained.
“You’re very attractive” she slurred.
What was that white sediment on her teeth?
it was thick and furry
like the hairs springing from her upper lip.
Her oestrogen had given up long ago.
It really highlighted the age gap.
Yet I was thinking about fucking her
my young cock pushing into her patchy haired cunt
forcing its way past those dry, discoloured labia
doing its best to avoid the warts.
Two years without sex was really starting to take it’s toll on me.
I dry heaved at the thought of coming in her.
“Come here, sweetie,” she gurgled.
I smelt stale alcohol on her breath.
It had a tragic scent.
There’d been life there once
but some bastard had beaten it out of her
taken everything that made a woman good
and reduced her to this.
I dry heaved again.
She went to put her arm round me
but I left.
She deserved better