by Irvine Welsh
We aw hud a laugh. McClymont’s awright. Ah used tae hate the cunt when ah wis first-year, but when ye git aulder eh hus mair ay a crack wi ye. Ah’ve seen him at Tynie n aw before. It’s good tae git a laugh at school.
By the eftirnoon though, my confidence had gone n ah wis feelin shite; tired, edgy n feart ay ma ain shadow. Doyle gied ays the eye in the corridor, n ah didnae ken if it wis like bein mates, or mibbe eh’s found oot ah wis Herts. Either wey, ah didnae make eye contact. Spooky as fuck, that cunt.
On Friday night ah jist steyed in, watchin the telly, then tapin some sounds and practising guitar. When my Ma and Dad went oot tae the cinema I was on the phone tae Malky, our drummer. Ah wanted tae tell him that the fanny were sniffing aroond like fuck and that was a sure sign that people were hearing aboot the band. That got um excited. — Amy Connor wanted tae hear us, eh gasps, aw excited. Then ah telt him that we’d huv tae practise mair at his, and eh went a bit quieter.
The auld man and auld lady were a bit suspicious ay me hingin aroond the hoose oan Setirday mornin. If ah wisnae workin at the fruit shoap, or gaun tae an away game, ah wis usually up the toon, roond the record shoaps. My dad asked me if ah wanted tae come wi him to the Kilmarnock game at Brockville, but ah wisnae keen oan that. When it goat tae Setirday night, and eh came back hame, ah was a bundle ay nerves as they goat ready tae go oot, really fuckin takin their time. They wir still nipped at ays fir steyin oot aw Thursday night. They didnae mind ays steyin ower at a mate’s, but ah’d broken two rules. The first one was, never when ah’ve school in the morning. The second one was that ah hudnae phoned tae tell them whair ah wis gaunny be. That’s a daft yin but, cause ye never ken until ye git thair, n yir usually too pished tae phone by that time.
Ah hud tae promise my Ma n Dad that ah wisnae gaunny go tae Clouds wi the boys, or up the toon. Ah telt them ah wis gaunny huv a night in, go up the chippy n bring back a mince pie supper, two pickled onions and a bottle ay Irn Bru. Then, aye, ah’d hollow oot a bit ay the mince and fill part ay the crust wi chips and eat it that wey while watchin the late-night horror film. Yep, ah might even go for a pickled egg as well.
Ah think they kent that something was up, but eventually they went, and ah was straight oot eftir them, doon the chippy right enough, but tae meet Sabrina. Ma hert wis racin when the first number six came, n she never goat oaf. Ah felt shite, but relieved as well, then shite again, then aw excited cause thir’s another straight behind. She gits oaf the bus, draped in this black jaykit. It makes her look so cool, so much aulder. She’s goat mair make-up oan n aw. Ah approve awright, it makes her look like a fuckin top shag. She was never done up like that at Clouds, and she kens how tae wear make-up awright.
It is a shock but, and for a minute ah feel like a wee boy wi a grown-up woman. Ah’m totally intae her now though, and we have a quick hug and kiss.
Then it dawns oan ays that ah’m oan the edge ay the scheme and ah cannae be seen here wi her, if Terry clocked her lookin like that, eh’d huv her away fae ays in a second. But . . . ah want people tae see n aw, see the bird ah’ve goat oaf wi here, so ah steer her taewards the hoose.
Aw naw . . .
The first cunt ah see is Birrell, comin oot the newsagent’s wi a Pink and some rolls and milk. — Carl! eh goes.
— Billy, ah nod, lettin oot a breath ay air. — That’s Sabrina. Eh, that’s Billy.
Billy smiles at her and then does something really weird and dead ordinary at the same time: eh touches her airm. — Hiya Sabrina, eh says. — Thought ah recognised you fae Clouds.
Ye kin tell she’s a wee bit surprised, but eh makes it seem dead natural. — Hiya Billy. How ye daein?
— No bad. Thought ah’d have a quiet night eftir last weekend, eh half-laughs, turnin tae me. — Hibs goat beat, Andy Ritchie got two for Morton. Herts were garbage as well ah heard. Did ye go?
— Nah . . . ah’m takin it easy, like you says. Mibbe go up the Ice Rink in the week but, eh?
— Aye, sound. Come doon for ays.
— Awright. See ye, Billy.
— Cheers, Carl; cheers, Sabrina.
And oaf eh went doon the road, leavin ays thinkin; what the fuck was ah sae worried aboot? Behave yourself Ewart, ya mug. Billy was cool, eh pit me tae shame. It brought hame tae ays what a barry gadge Birrell is. Eh kin be nippy, but eh’s goat a sound hert n eh’s eywis good tae people that dinnae bother him. Best cunt I’ve ever met, really.
We went oan oor way doon the road.
— Your pal seems nice, she sais.
— Aye, Billy’s sound. The best.
— Ah never knew you went ice-skating.
— Aye, jist sometimes, ah said, a bit embarrassed.
Ah’d goat intae gaun wi Billy, cause it was the best place in toon for fanny. Some posh wee birds thaire n aw. Ah’d just started gaun wi him recently when ah sussed oot that it wis one ay ehs secret wee rendezvous. The rink wis oor wee secret, kept fae Terry, whae’d embarrass ye by takin everything ower. Thir wis a wee plan in the back ay ma heid that once ah’d goat ma hole fae a nice lassie thaire, ah’d introduce Gally tae the place n lord it ower the nervous wee virgin!
Wish it could happen now.
Mind you, ah wis shite oan the ice, spendin maist ay the time oan ma erse n comin back soakin. Sporty cunt Birrell wis great of course, and ye could tell that the birds were well impressed. He’d just sit back, bein aw cool, makin quiet connections for Clouds or Buster’s.
I get worried that Sabrina might think I’m a scruff cause I stey in a scheme. Mind you, a tenement flat in Dalry isnae exactly upper-class. Ah keep her talkin aboot sounds, makin eye contact, soas thit shi’ll no notice the graffiti oan the stairs. Ah’m no bothered eftir, cause once ah git her intae the hoose she’ll be able tae tell thit wir no scruffs. Thir’s somethin ah kin dae nowt aboot though, n that’s the stink ay pish in the stair. These cunts up the stairs, the Barclays, they jist lit that dug oot n it runs doon the stairs tae dae its stuff oan the waste. The thing is thit if the stairdoor’s shut, it jist pishes, and sometimes even shites, in the stair. When we get up tae ma bit, ah remember that ma key is oan a bit ay string roond ma neck, like a wee bairn, and it’s so stupid and embarrassin as ah huv tae fish it oot and ah fumble gittin it intae the lock.
How uncool is this.
If ah cannae git a fuckin key intae the lock, how ah’m ah gaunny . . . fuck, naw.
Anyhow, it’s better whin we’re back at mine. Ah pit oan Cockney Rebel. Sabrina’s fascinated by ma auld boy’s record collection, she’s never seen so many tunes. Over eight thousand. — Maist ay them’s mine, ah lie, wishin ah hudnae.
Ah show her ma guitar n some ay the songs ah’d wrote fir the band. Ah think she nivir quite believed me aboot that, but she’s well impressed wi the guitar. — Ye gaunny play something oan it, she asks.
— Eh, mibbe later, ah goes. Ah’ll jist make a cunt ay masel if ah try that in front ay her. — The amp’s a wee bit knackered, mind ay wis tellin ye, ah’m savin up fir a new yin.
We put oan some mair records and settle doon oan the couch. Eftir a bit ay snoggin, ah mind ay what Terry said the other night, when eh wis tellin ays how eh chatted up this bird. So ah ask her if she’s ever made love before, like aw the wey. She doesnae say nowt, but jist goes aw quiet. — It wis jist, like, if ye wanted tae dae it, that would be great like. Wi me like. Now like. Ah’m jist sayin likes, and ah’m tryin tae cut maself oaf before ah start ramblin shite, shite, shite.
She looks up at me aw shyly n gies a wee nod and a smile. — We gaunny take oor clathes oaf then, she says.
Fuckin hell. Ah jist aboot shat ma pants thaire. Then she gets up oaf the couch n jist starts undressin, casually, like it’s the maist natural thing in the world! Ah suppose it is n aw, n ah worry if she’s done it loads before, like she’s some pox-ridden hoor n ma cock’s gaunny be covered in pus n jist crumble oaf if ah pit it anywhaire near her.
Fuck it. Better dyin ay the clap thin dyin a virgin.
Ah grits ma teeth n pills the
blinds shut, ma hand tremblin oan the cord. Ma hert’s poundin and ah kin hardly undress masel. Ah thoat ah wis nivir gaunny stoap shakin.
We baith get our clathes oaf, but she’s fuck all like the birds in the magazines and the telly. Her tits are barry, but her skin’s so white she looks as cauld as ice-cream. Funny how ye expect birds tae be tanned, like in the wank mags. Mind you, ah suppose ah dinnae look like that Robert Redford boy either. Ah’ve goat tae dae something here, so ah hug her, and I’m surprised how warm she feels. Ah’ve stoapped shakin. The funny thing is that ah thought ah would find it hard tae git an erection, when it came doon tae it likes, but it’s fair standing tae attention awright.
Ehr eyes are feastin oan ma cock, and she seems fascinated by it. Ah thoat that wis only me! — Can ah touch it? she asks.
Ah can only nod. She starts pulling at it, gently, but ah shiver n tense at first fae the contact, naebody else has touched ma cock before, then ah let maself relax and ah feel sortay nervous but luxurious at the same time. Ah look at Sabrina, and ah suppose ah should be thinkin, dirty cow, but ah’m enjoyin her appreciation ay it. Ah’m enjoyin it too much, cause ah dinnae want tae shoot ower her, ah want it in, ah want ma hole.
Ah take a step back, then two forward, pulling her tae me, holding her, ma cock pushing up against her thigh — Goan lie doon, ah whisper, unsteadily.
— Can we no jist play aboot for a while . . . she asks.
— Eh naw, lit’s jist dae it, goan lie doon . . . ah ask insistently. She’s like maist lassies ah suppose, too much Hollywood, wantin it tae be like in films n magazines. That’s awright if ye ken whit yir daein, but if ah dinnae git ma hole now . . .
Sabrina gies a disappointed smile, but she’s lying oan the couch and she slowly opens her legs. Ah gasp tae maself, her soft hairy fanny looks so fuckin beautiful. Ah git the flunky fae ma pocket n stick it oan ma cock. Ah’m relived when ah roll it doon the length ay it withoot any embarrassin fumblin. Ah’m between her legs and oan toap ay her, feeling her groin against mine. Ah try tae get it in the hole, but ah’m scrappin the cherry against her pubes and flaps n ah cannae find it. Ah’m gittin soft. Ah start snoggin wi her n ah’m hard again, running ma hands ower her tits, twirling her nipples between finger n thumb. No too soft, no too hard, like Terry once said ootside the chippy yonks ago. But ah’m a tit expert, ah’ve hud loads ay tit, aw the tit ah want in this life in fact; it’s ma hole ah’m eftir.
The hole, the whole hole and nothing but the hole.
Once again, ah try tae git it in, but naw, ah’m rubbin it oan the flaps, hopin it’ll slip intae this big greasy hole, but thir’s nowt there.
Thir’s nae hole!
Ah’m startin tae panic . . . is she a guy or something, one ay they sex change cunts that’s hud ehs cock cut oaf . . . but now she’s grabbed ma hand and pit it doon thaire, oan her bush. — Play wi me for a bit, she says. What the fuck is she oan aboot, play wi her? Wir playin doctors and nurses here . . . is she wantin Japs n Commandos or somethin?
Anyhow, ah’m touching her, rubbing my fingers in her dry crack, trying tae find this so-called hole. Then it happens! Ah feel it, further doon than ah thought, nearly at her arsehole for fuck’s sakes! And it’s tiny, no way will ma cock git in thaire! Ah’m workin ma finger in n pokin, tryin tae expand the hole, but she’s grippin tight roond it, it’s like her fanny’s a mooth, n ah kin feel her gaun aw tense underneath me.
— Further up a wee bit, she says — Dae that further up.
What the fuck is she oan aboot, further up? How’s that gaunny open up the hole? This is fuckin terrible. Ah should’ve saved up, went tae some big hoor doon in Leith or in that place doon the New Town. Ma cock still feels hard though, rubbin up against her thigh. Ah’m snoggin her again, still workin that hole, thinkin ay other birds at school ah fancy, then ah think, thir might be another hole further up ah’ve missed! Mibbe that wis what she meant! So ah does as she sais, starts rubbin further up, but ah’m fucked if ah kin find another hole. It’s mair like a wee fleshy button, but ah tweak away at it. But she starts relaxin, and then she’s twistin and groanin away . . .
This is barry, she’s really turned oan! She bites ma shoodir. She goes, — Gies it now . . . give it tae me . . .
Ah’m thinkin, what a fuckin lover ah am, what a fuckin pure sex machine, but fuck sakes, it’ll never git in yir hole, doll, it’s just too wee. Maybe the smaller man like perr Gally . . . but naw, she grabs ma wrist n pills it doon, n fuck me if the hole husnae transformed completely! It’s now aw moist n wide, n ma finger slides in easy. Thir’s a waft comin up and ah suppose that’s her gettin spunk or fanny juice or whatever ye call it that birds git. Now ah get this! It’s that daft wee button at the toap that opens the hole! That’s aw these sex-education cunts needed tae tell ye! Press the wee button at the toap for a bit n the hole opens. Push the cock intae the hole! Simple as that!
WHY THE FUCK DID THE CUNTS NO JIST SAY THAT IN
THE FIRST PLACE!!!
So eftir a while ah start tae slide ma cock in, a bit at a time. Ah’m no in a hurry now, no now that ah’ve goat the knowledge. Then ah move it in and oot, up n doon but fuck me if thir isnae a rid mist behind ma eyes n ah’m flyin over Tynecastle n ah’m in a spasm and the whole thing jist lasts fir aboot five seconds before ah start shootin ma load inside ay her and it’s fuckin brilliant.
Well awright, it wisnae that good really, but what a fuckin relief!
Fuckin brilliant!
Gally, aw they cunts, aw they fuckin virgins at school. Ha! Ha!
No Gally. Perr Gally.
Fuckin brilliant though! Fifteen! Still under the age! Juice Terry? It’s probably 90 per cent bullshit wi that cunt. Eh’s kiddin ehself oan!
Imagine bein a virgin. The likesay me n Billy though, we ken the score.
— That wis barry, ah say.
She’s hudin me like ah wis a wee laddie, but ah dinnae feel comfy, ah’m aw restless n that. Ah’m thinkin aboot writin tae perr Gally in the jail. What kin ye say but; dinnae want ye tae be gittin aw depressed in thair Wee Man, but me n the boys, we’re aw gittin oor hole now oot here and it’s fuckin barry!
Now ah want tae git ma clathes oan n git Sabrina hame. She’s startin tae seem fat n thir’s a funny look ower her face. Ah cannae believe ah jist rode her.
— Have you done this before? she asks, as ah pull away n git ma keks n jeans oan.
— Aye, tons ay times, ah tell her, makin masel sound as if she’s daft. — What aboot you?
— Naw, it wis ma first time . . . She gets up. Thir’s a bit ay blood. It must be cause ma cock wis that big that it hurt her. She looks at it. — That’s me no a virgin any mair, she says, aw happy.
Ah look at ma cock. Thir’s nae blood oan the flunky, or maybe a bit, but it’s no red, it’s like ah’ve dipped it in some chip-shoap vinegar.
Sabrina’s gettin her clathes oan. — You’re a nice laddie, Carl. Ye wir really nice tae me. Aw the boys at the school n that, ye ken thir only after jist one thing, but you wir really lovely, she comes ower n hugs me. Ah’m feelin awkward n ah dinnae really ken what tae say.
Then she goes up tae the lavvy tae get cleaned up. Ah’m feelin sort ay bad n good aw at once, wishin that ah wis different and then gled that ah’m no at the same time. Ye never, ever know how tae be for the best. It would be great if shaggin wis like in films; nae tension, silliness, awkwardness or funny smells n sticky goo and where every cunt behaved themselves and kent their ain minds, but you’ve jist goat tae git by the best ye kin ah suppose. Mibbe it gits like that later.
Ah’ve goat the clathes back oan. Ah’m looking at ma face in the mirror above the fireplace. Ah look the same, but harder. It’s like ah’ve goat this heavier growth now, no jist bum-fluff oan ma chin, it’s mair like real blonde thin milky-white. Lookin in ma eyes ah see something, something ah cannae explain, but ah huvnae seen it before. They say that it happens eftir yuv hud yir hole. Aye, ah’m mair like a man, no jist a daft wee boy.
I did it, I did
it, I did it!
Now ah’ve goat tae get Sabrina oot before my Ma n Dad come back. She’s a nice lassie n that, but ah dinnae want anybody tae think we’re gaun oot thegither. The truth is, ah want tae be like Terry, tae have loads ay different birds oan the go. No wantin tied doon, eh. Terry once said that a bird’s like a pint: one oan its ain isnae really much use. Ah walk her tae the bus stop and she’s clinging tightly tae me, n part ay me kens it’s important tae her but ah jist want her bus tae come soas that ah can be oan ma ain n think things through.
Another bus stoaps across the road comin intae the scheme, n fuck me, ma mother n faither get oaf. Ah turn away, but ah hear my Ma drunkenly shout, — Carl!
Ah wave shyly across the road, n Sabrina asks, — Who’s that?
— Eh, it’s muh Ma n Dad.
— Your mum looks really nice, ah like the way she’s dressed, Sabrina says.
This startles me: how the fuck can your Ma look nice? Ah say nothing. But ah look ower the road n the fuckin . . . the fuckin . . . thir fuckin comin ower n spoilin everything . . .
— Hiya, my Ma says tae Sabrina. — I’m Maria, Carl’s mum.
— Sabrina, she says back, aw shy.
— Beautiful name, my Ma goes, looking at her with a real, almost loving smile.
— I’m Duncan, Sabrina, and ah ken it’s hard tae believe, a good-looking felly like me, but that’s my laddie, he shakes her hand. The cunt can tell I’ve goat a beamer. — We thought we’d walk back and pick up some chips. You two want us to bring you some back?
— Eh, Sabrina’s goat tae get hame, — we’re just waiting on her bus.
— Right then, we’ll no cramp yir style, eh says, and they say goodbye, walking doon the road.
Ah can hear muh Ma’s high, drunken laughter as they turn the corner, and a chorus of Suspicious Minds fae ma auld man. — We can’t go on this wey-hey-hey . . . with suspi-sho-hos-ma-hands . . .