by Irvine Welsh
Ye kin tell that she’s been tannin it in the aerobics or step classes, cause it feels mair firm tae me thin ever. — Seems awright, ah say, — bit it needs another wee test, ah tell her, gittin doon oan ma knees and littin ma tongue feast oan baith her holes. Fuck salad, ah’ve eywis been a meat man. Disnae take her long tae show her appreciation. Ah like a bird like that, lits ye ken the state ay play. Ah tend tae be quite vocal wi sex n aw. Ah cannae stand watchin fitba in a pub wi the sound turned doon.
Eftir a bit, she goes, — Gie’s it now, Terry. Gie’s it. Now!
— Ye want it?
— Aye, now, she says. — C’moan Terry, ah’m no in the mood fir fanny teasin . . . jist fuckin gie’s it!
— Which hole?
— Baith . . . she goes . . .
Ah’ve only goat one fuckin cock here missus, that’s the fuckin problem. — Ah ken that, but which first?
— You choose . . . she says.
Fine. Let’s see if ah kin surprise her and masel by stickin it up her fanny.
Naw.
Ah’m packin intae her erse as she curses loudly, — Fuck . . . She’s kept this black band in her hair, it emphasises the boatil blonde. There’s a twisting dopeyness across her face n ah’m pulling on her hair and pushing at her face, wondering if this is love or sex or hate or what. It’s funny, but it’s me that’s makin aw the noise; poisonous, twisted, garbage spillin oot ay ma mooth in a low primal growl, then gittin intae aw romantic, disconnected nonsense. This thing is so fucked up that it needs a commentary. Ah’m tweakin oan her fanny wi ma other hand, rubbing her clit and ah feel her come and ah want tae pull oot her erse and stick it in the first hole, but ye cannae dae that withoot a wash first, so I’m shootin hard into her bum and pushing her face against the cupboard and her eyes with the big circles under them are popping and it looks like love is gaunny out!
She seems tae be huvin they wee convulsions as ah pill oot ah her n she lets go a thunderous fart which brings ays back tae aw the animal nastiness ay what we are and what we’ve been daein n ah cannae look at ma cock. Ye goat tae check an erse-shaggin partner’s dietary habits. Ah go straight oot and up the stairs intae the shower tae wash away the smells.
Heterosexual erse shaggin: the new love thit disnae speak its name. That’s until a dozen pints in the pub, then aw the shite comes oot, and that’s whit maist ay it is. Ah kin tell a boy thit’s never rode a bird up the erse, the same wey ah could tell one that hudnae rode one up the fanny aw they years back. Step forward, Mr Galloway! Step forward, Mr Ewart! Step forward, Mr Clean-Cut-Sporty-Cunt Birrell. Dinnae ken aboot Turvey, but he’s probably rode laddies up the erse. Bein baith a Jambo and a Nazi, eh cannae fail but tae be a poof.
Ah git back doonstairs, n wait for her tae git washed n changed. Ah gie the drum a quick spin, and it’s as expected, a straight couple-n-bairn doss, neat and tidy, but nowt ay real value. No thit ah’d’ve ripped her off, it’s jist that Polmont McMurray might have some stuff aroond here. Thir’s nae sign ay that though. Ah git the vibe that he’s going, or has already gone, the wey ay perr wee Gally.
— No bad doss, ah tell her, looking aroond the well-furnished living room. These Chesser gaffs are sought-eftir tenancies.
She blows oot some smoke. — Fuckin hate it here. Ah went up tae the cooncil tae see Maggie. Telt her ah wanted one ay they new places thir buildin ower the back thair. The fuckin snooty cow goes n says, ah cannae dae anything fir ye Gail, yir no a priority case. Ah goes, some pal you eh. No thit ah see her now. That cow never even fuckin well invited ays tae her weddin.
Ah, wee Maggie. A councillor now, oan the Housing Committee as well. — They cannae show favouritism, ah shrug. — Mind you, she showed me enough in her time.
— Aye, ah ken the kind she showed you, Gail laughs. — Thinks she’s the bee’s-knees now but.
She did awright for herself, did wee Maggie. — Ye know, she never even invited her Uncle Alec tae the weddin; mind you, eh wis in jail for housebrekin at the time. Lucky fir her, that posh boy she mairried would have shat it. Widnae huv looked good in the photaes.
Ah’m thinkin aboot how things get handed doon in families. Ah mind ay Maggie sayin in an interview in the Evening News that she hud a ‘passionate interest in housing affairs’. Guaranteed she goat that offay Alec! Jist fuckin well channelled it in a different wey!
Gail looks good in that dress, so ah gie her another seein tae oan the couch. She fair goes oaf; ah think the aulder ah git, the better ah git. Ye kin tell that Polmont cunt couldnae huv been up tae much, cause it takes her nae time at aw tae git oaf.
We decide tae git a cab doon tae this hotel in Polwarth fir a drink. She grabs a hud ay ma rid-raw baws in the back ay the motor. — You are one dirty fuckin slag, son, she tells me.
It’s weird but ah’m thinkin aboot Gally now, then aboot Viv, aboot how they two are probably the people ah care aboot maist in the world, and aboot how fuckin destroyed they’d baith be if they kent what ah wis up tae the now. The way ah feel that fuckin knob in ma troosers startin tae git aw hard, n ah ken that ah’m weak and stupid, n thit whatever ah kid oan tae masel, it’s eywis been lassies that’ve called the shots wi me. They ken they jist huv tae look at ays n ah’ll come runnin.
Like her. — The rest ay them . . . they sort ays oot wi money, but you fuck ays best. How could you no be a millionaire, Terry? she laughs.
— Whae telt ye ah wisnae, ah say, keepin it light. Ah dinnae want tae hear aboot her slaggin Gally, or even fuckin Heid-The-Baw McMurray, come tae that. Aw ah ever want her tae dae is tae shag me. Eftir it ah want her tae disappear, cause before the ride wi her is barry, the build-up n that, but eftir it, it’s nowt like it is wi wee Vivvy. Thir’s nowt other than lust here. Still, it’s the spice ay life, ah’ve eywis believed that. If it wis up tae me, shaggin n love wid be two different things. Thir should be nae emotional complications wi jist shaggin. Too many repressed cunts in power; churches, public school n aw that: that’s the fuckin problem wi this country. When ye git closet poofs settin the sexual agenda for every other cunt, well how kin ye wonder whin every fucker gits aw stiff aboot invadin this piece ay rock in the South Atlantic?
In this crappy lounge bar fill ay suburban twats, she’s gittin pissed quick, she cannae really take a bevvy. She’s spilling oot the poison, saying that all men are cunts, only good for fucking and bringing in a wage. — That’s one thing aboot you, Terry, there’s nae bullshit aboot you. Ah bet you’ve never telt a lassie that you loved her and meant it in yir life. Aw ye ever want is yir hole.
Aw, is that fuckin right?
Gally used tae hate the wey her mooth went eftir a drink. It disnae bother me. She’s right: aw ah’m interested in wi her is a Joe McBride. If she feels the same aboot me, so much the better. It wis her though that wanted this drink. Ah could’ve jist steyed in and had another shot at her. Ah cannae wait till we get tae Munich, away fae aw this fuckin bollocks. The wey Gally’s been lately n aw, it’s like every cunt needs a brek, that’s guaranteed.
Tryin tae lighten things up, ah start talkin shite. — You no wear glesses any mair?
— Naw, contacts.
— Ah eywis found the glesses sexy, ah tell her, thinkin ay the time when she sucked ays oaf n ah pilled oot, spurtin aw ower they gold-rimmed yins she used tae wear. Speakin ay rims, she could dae wi another fuckin rimmin . . .
— You fuckin wear thum then, she goes.
Naw, this is nae good.
She goes tae the toilet n ah watch her back disappear. Ah think of how ah fucked her, how ah betrayed Viv. Now that ah’ve done it the once, of course, ah can dae it again. Thir’s plenty fanny in toon gantin oan it, loads ay them at Fluid. Dinnae want Gail thinkin she’s anything special. Ah git a pen fae the barman and leave a message oan the beermat:
G.
JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING URGENT.
SEE YOU SOON.
T. XXX
Ah nip swiftly oot the door n flag doon a taxi oan the main road, makin for toon. Ma sides u
r shakin at the thought ay her comin back tae that note.
Clubland
Fluid is fuckin heavin wi quality fanny, and Carl’s lappin it up as usual. Ehs mate Chris is deejayin, n Carl’s jist waitin for his chance, swannin roond, huggin every cunt, the fuckin dog’s bollocks. Eh’s goat ehs airms roond this lassie, n ah recognise her as one ay the Brook girls. They see me n comes ower n gits ays in a wee group hug. Ah’m hudin ontae the Brook lassie tight n him lightly, cause eh kens ah dinnae go too much fir that shite wi other guys. N this fuckin kissin other guys gits oan ma tits, E’s or nae E’s. — Aw Terry, Terry, Terry, eh goes, then wi brek oaf.
— Good Jack ands?
— The best, Ter, the best. The best ah’ve ever hud.
Everything’s the best wi that cunt. — Enjoyin thum, doll? ah ask the Brook sister. Ah cannae mind if it’s Lesley or the other yin. Ah should do, cause ah’ve fucked thum baith.
— Brilliant, the Brook lassie goes, wrappin an airm roond Ewart’s skinny, lassie-like waist and sweeping her hair back oaf her face. — Carl’s gaun tae gie me one ay ehs special massages, aren’t ye Carl?
Special fuckin massages. Ewart.
The slimy fucker just looks intae her eyes and smiles deeply, then turns tae me. — This lassie, she’s a vision, eh Terry? Ah mean, look at her, what a sight for sore eyes.
— Ye kin say that again, ah smile. Ewart’s one ay they guys whae drops an E and thinks thir spreadin a trail ay love acroass the room, but it’s a trail ay fuckin oil, the smarmy cunt.
— Unaccompanied tonight, Mr Lawson? Where’s the lovely Vivian?
— Girls’ night oot wi her mates fi the work, ah lie. — Nae Billy or Gally?
— Billy’s here somewhere, Carl says, lookin aroond, — n Gally, well, eh came in wi this lassie and thir baith really fucked. Eh looks fuckin skagged tae me.
The wee Brook lassie shakes her heid. — Eh’s such a lovely, lovely, lovable laddie as well, eh doesnae need that rubbish.
These cunts droap an E and fae thair sanctimonious high they feel it gies them the right tae tell every cunt else what tae dae.
— Ye wir right aboot him, Terry, eh’s talkin a load ay shite. Ah mean, we’re aw sensitive people, as starvin Marvin would say, but Gally’s the maist sensitive ay the lot. Ehs like a clitoris blown up tae five foot five and moulded intae a human figure, eh sais, n ah laugh at that and the Brook sister gies it thoughtful consideration.
Then the sister turns tae me n goes, — Speak tae Andrew, Terry, eh’s such a nice laddie. Eh’s one ay the most beautiful laddies ah’ve ever met. Eh’s got such gorgeous eyes. Thir like big pools ay love, ye want tae just dive right intae them, n she wraps her airms roond her ain frame, like she’s gaunny have some kind ay fuckin orgasm jist thinkin ay daft wee Gally’s mad smacked-oot eyes. They must be fuckin good pills right enough.
Carl grabs a hud ay ma airm. — Listen, Ter, ah’m oan in a minute, you find the cunt n make sure eh disnae git intae any mair bother. Mark wis sayin thit thir wis a bit ay trouble at the door . . .
— . . . Youse are so beautiful tae yir pals, ah love the wey thit yis aw look eftir each other, ah kin really feel that comin fae yis n ah kin pick up aw that cause bein a twin makes ye mair sensitive . . . the Brook bird rabbits oan n oan.
Time ah wis away. — Right, ah nod, headin off, giein her a kiss oan her shiny cheek and squeezin her erse.
Ah look back n she’s stuck like a limpet tae Ewart, whae’s strugglin tae git up tae the platform n ontae the decks.
It’s hotchin awright here but. Ah thoat ah’d check for Gally in the chill-oot zone, but thir’s nae sign ay um. Then ah sees um staggerin acroass the dancefloor, gittin funny grins fae the blissed-oot ravers. So ah goes up tae um. — Gally!
Eh was in some fuckin state right enough. Registerin ays, eh stood rooted tae the spot but swayin fae side tae side, like an MFI wardrobe. Fae what ah kin gather, the daft fucker had tried tae bring that Wylie cunt in, but Mark oan the door wis huvin nane ay it, thank fuck fir that. Wylie started shoutin the odds n this bird took um hame.
So Gally’s thaire wi this slapper bird, who, awright, ye’d gie one tae. Thir’s something aboot them baith: they reek ay fuckin junk. Eh’s probably been oot since ah last saw um the other night at Alec’s. Ah try tae talk tae him but eh’s away wi it. Dinnae ken what Mark wis daein littin him in, Carl’s mate or no. — What ye up tae, mate? ah ask. Ah feel the same kind ay impotent loathin that Gail must feel aboot him, n ah kin see her point now.
— Hibs . . . Dundee . . . Rab Birrell goat done . . . dinnae tell Billy . . . Gally spraffs oan.
— Eh goat done? Rab?
Gally nods. This dippit lassie’s hingin ontae him, lookin at me and smilin. She’s no skagged, she’s E’d oaf her nut, jist like that Brook twin. — N Larry stabbed Phil n we hud tae take Phil tae the hoaspital, this bird goes. — Muriel n Larry didnae git in but, eh-no Andrew?
Ah ignore her n grab Gally’s ears n make him look ays in the eye. — Listen the now, Gally, when ye say Rab goat done, dae ye mean by the polis or by some boys?
— Polis . . . eh battered a boy . . .
That’s one for the book, Rab Birrell gittin done. Eywis thought eh wis too much ay a shitein cunt tae ever git done for brawlin. Gally said tae ays that eh’s well up fir it at the fitba but. The thing is, what’s Gally daein gaun wi a mob tae the fitba, then gittin aw skagged up wi the likes ay Wylie? Oil n water, surely. This cunt is confused awright n eh’s no gaunny feel any better if eh kens ah’ve been knobbin ehs ex. — Try tae take it easy, mate, c’moan through here n sit doon. Ah usher him tae the chill-oot bit.
— We came tae dance . . . this bird whinges, wipin the sweat offay her brow. No wi Gally shi willnae, the cunt can hardly stand.
Gally slurs somethin aboot wantin tae buy some E’s. Ah take a couple fae him n make ma excuses, movin intae the hert ay the bass. The daft lassie kin look eftir him. Thir’s some barry-lookin birds, but ah’ve eywis jist liked chattin up lassies in pubs rather than clubs. The music ruins the art ay conversation.
Thir’s one in particular that ah like, real Italian-style Serie-A class. Eftir that bit ay fun in Italy, ah’ve decided that it’s mair upmarket fanny fir me fae now oan. Ye git involved wi schemie birds n it’s no bad at first, but aw this stuff wi Gail n Gally is far too close tae home.
Aye, her at the bar. She blew ays away when ah first clocked her. She looked fuckin gorgeous: a tight T-shirt on, leather trousers. Her hair flowing long and straight, as cool as, well, that full pint of lager in her hand. She is a vision, and now she’s headed right up tae jammy Carl Ewart whae’s standin spinnin ehs tunes fae behind the decks. Ah follay her.
— N-SIGN? Are you N-SIGN? she asks, and in quite a posh voice. The smart cunt’s joys ay being a deejay. — Yeah, eh smiles, and eh wis just about tae say mair when she throws the pint of lager in the cunt’s face!
— NAZI SCUM! she shouts at um, and Carl’s aw shocked; eh just stands thaire speechless n drippin wi beer. It’s fuckin barry, Ewart’s puss is well shut!
The Brook lassie’s gaun ooohhh n tryin tae comfort Carl n sayin thit thir’s such a lovely vibe and how dae people huv tae spoil it, aw that shite, then everybody’s ower. Ewart’s gaun mental wi what the daft cunt sees as the sheer injustice ay it aw. Eh’s rantin a lot ay shite aboot him n Topsy; aboot it bein a daft bevvy wi some auld mates n stupid senses of humour, media manipulation and entrapment, n ehs precious politics, ehs socialistic, libertarian politics.
This bird’s hearin none ay ehs shite but, cause she’s still shoutin, at our somewhat soaked Mr Ewart, who then has to react tae the lager pouring over ehs vinyl and into the turntables and amps, so eh’s now frantically using ehs sweatshirt as a mop before the whole thing short-circuits.
Mark, one of the bouncers, is right over to them; her, her mate and a wired, clean-lookin dippit boy who could be her felly. Billy Birrell’s in, he’s seen it all and he’s right ower n aw.
Birrell tries tae tell the lassie tae
leave, nicely ah thoat, n her felly squares up tae him. — Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin to? eh asks. It’s a wideo accent, but it’s pit-oan for the benefit ay the birds. Try as the cunt might, eh cannae help but ooze student fae every pore.
Birrell ignores um n says tae the lassie, — Look, just go.
She starts screaming at him now, calling him a Nazi n a fascist n aw that shite that posh students like tae call people, usually cause thir away fae hame fir the first time n they discover that they hate thir ma n dad and cannae handle it.
Billy’s as cool as fuck but. Eh kens eh’s goat nowt tae prove tae the likes ay them and eh just turns n walks away. The radge boy stupidly grabs ehs shoodir n Billy turns in a quick, instinctive movement and smashes the nut intae his face. The boy staggers back, blood spurtin fae ehs nose. The lassie freezes in shock. Billy looks at her while eh points at him. — Yir boyfriend’s goat a bit ay boatil. Eh deserves better than a dozy cow like you. Take um hame!
Mark the bouncer comes up, aw worried aboot Birrell. — Ye awright, Billy? Yir hand awright? Ye didnae huv tae punch the boy did ye?
— No way. Ah nutted um, Birrell explains.
— Good man, Mark says, aw relieved, n pats Billy oan the back. Mark’s a big fan ay Birrell’s n eh disnae want tae see ehs next fight pit back cause eh’s fucked ehs knuckles oan some daft cunt. Eh turns tae the studenty cunts. — RIGHT YOUSE, OOT! C’MOAN! YUV BEEN TELT!
Carl’s callin for everybody tae calm doon. Ah’ll gie the cunt ehs due; eh’s actually tryin tae smarm intae this bird. Eh’s gaun oan aboot it bein nae problem, jist a misunderstanding. The cheeky cunt even hus the nerve tae say tae Birrell, — That wisnae too helpful, Billy.
Billy raises his eyebrows at him, as if tae say: ah did it fir you, ya daft cunt.
Thir still giein it the big yin though, especially that bird that soaked Carl. Gally’s acroass now n shoutin at them, — Who the fuck are youse anywey . . . youse ur . . . youse ur . . . but eh’s that wasted thit eh’s jist makin a cunt ay ehsel.