The Creep

I sat in the empty carriage of a late night train
fighting against the drink to stay awake
the world was flying by outside
but I appeared to be going nowhere
trapped in the present
no company but for a flickering light
compared to some relationships it was heaven
then the creep walked in
he had the hair of a newborn
but the wrinkles and desperation of experience
he sat down opposite me
I made a point at looking at the empty seats around us

“Where you heading to, young man?” he asked
“There’s only one stop.” I fired back
“I meant after that.
“The bridge.”
“The bridge?”
“Yeah the bridge by the station. I live under it”

the creep looked concerned
I noticed dried spittle in the corner of his mouth
probably caused by medication

“On a night like this?! No, I insist you come back to mine. It’s real warm.” he offered.

I began to wonder if it was just dried spittle

“Do you like jazz?” he asked

I do like jazz as a matter of fact

“It’s not bad” I said vaguely

he began reeling off names of musicians I’d never heard of

“Never heard of them” I replied
“Well come back to mine and I’ll educate you” he suggested

I ignored him and his offer of tutoring

“I’ve got good wine. It’s come all the way from France” he explained.

I looked out the window
the train was passing a small town
everyone there was probably asleep
lucky bastards
I noticed the creep wasn’t wearing a coat
just a tatty, tanned shirt and some ill-fitting trousers
it was November
some time passed

“You ever been curious about men?” he finally asked
“Only when they’re staring at my girlfriend.” I answered

I noticed some fear in his eyes 
he didn’t have many years left
but he wasn’t ready to go
not whilst there was so much to take.

“I bet you’ve got the perfect helmet.” he guessed

He was right
nice shape with a real smooth finish.

“Look, I’m tired, old man. But if you go two carriages that way, there’s a boy in there. Real curious. Has a saxophone with him too. Very jazzy.” I lied

the old man stood up and looked up the carriages
he stroked his chin
some of the dried spittle (or worse) flaked off

“But I didn’t see anyone. I looked. I looked in all the carriages…” he pondered
“He was asleep when I saw him. Slumped down. Easily missed” I replied
“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute. Wait right here”

he eagerly shuffled out of the carriage
I got up and went two carriages down in the opposite direction
eventually the creep returned
he looked angry

“Why did you lie to me?! I thought we were friends!” he bellowed
“He’s gone? Are you sure? Maybe he got off at the last station?” I said
“There’s only one stop. You know that! You fucking know that!”

the poor fucker began to cry
He really wanted to devour me
or anyone, to be honest
he wanted to suck the very marrow from the bones of my soul
just like me and any girl I’ve ever met
we weren’t that different really
tears trickled down his face
they followed the crazy roadmap of broken capillaries covering his skin
each one told a story of how the creep had given up on shame a long time ago
he held up his shaking, pleading hands

“The cancer took away my erections! It doesn’t mean I don’t get turned on” he screamed

is this really all we have to look forward to?
Desperation?
Disease?
Impotence?
I let out a long deep sigh.

“You give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you under the bridge at the station.” I offered.
“Oh yes, young man! I’ll pop to the shop and get some wine! I know a shop nearby! They’re very discrete!” he triumphantly bellowed.

The train stopped and we both got off

“Ten minutes. No later. And no kissing.” I warned.

The creep hurried off
stumbling as he went
I got in a taxi and went straight to my girlfriend’s
she had everything I wanted
that poor son of a bitch is probably still waiting under the bridge
getting older and older.

Would be lovers

Here we are, young would be lovers
between underground platforms
the smell of brake dust heavy in the air
busy footsteps of the city long faded into silence
even with the fluorescent lighting revealing her flaws
she’s the most beautiful girl I’ll ever meet
it’s as if she’s been plucked from my subconscious
to satisfy every urge I’ve ever had
there’s hesitation in our eyes
hearts wrestling with guilt
trying to forget about faithful lovers back at home
but resisting this carnal passion would be a crime
our tongues entwine
hands run up and down each others bodies
a dress rehearsal of what’s to come
we break off to an awkward silence
her boyfriend weighing heavy upon her mind
for once in her life she has no answers
she desperately looks in my eyes for guidance
sees nothing but tears in the morning
I finally get a glimpse of her true soul
it’s straining at the seams as we depart
her southbound
me northbound.

End of a Friendship

Masculinity's breathing down my neck
no man wants to be a girl's best friend
only their best fuck
that's why I've cut our friendship
she can't acknowledge my y chromosome
this blindness makes me angry
makes a mockery of my arrogance
she's bawling in my face for answers
the drink always did loosen her emotions
I cut through my lust and turn vicious
blame all the shortcomings on her
the trust I once bestowed in her eyes has gone
replaced by fear and sorrow
she tries to hug me
but I've got to prove I'm a man
I push her away
smash my glass into the bar
the last vestiges of bourbon slip from the shards
trickle onto the dirty floor
and evaporate
just like our friendship.

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.

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.