The Fishwhacker Swindle?

I’d been thinking about her all day.

The light turned green and I pulled away, aware of a growing ache down below, the throb of tumescent veins. It had been a long time, too long, and now that we were going to be together in a few minutes the urgency intensified. She was - is – beautiful, white and curved and open; and that Tuesday evening, as the autumn gold bathed the pavements, she was waiting for me.

Focus, damn it. A shriek from the tyres as I jammed my foot down hard and for a moment I thought I wasn’t going to make it, but the front of the car drifted slightly to the left and the tailgate in front moved off as my engine stalled. The driver in front gave me two fingers as he gunned his own engine. I sat for a few seconds, foot still on the brake pedal, the iron tang of fear in my mouth, but there was no time to hang about because the guy behind was leaning on his horn and the adrenaline kicked in down below, and the need surged in me painfully. I keyed the ignition and joined the traffic flow again.

We’d met the day I had moved into the new house, and hadn’t spent a day apart since then. That first night, home after a celebratory curry, I had spent hours pressed against her, joined to her as if we were a single organism, convulsed in the grip of the dark unity of agony and delight. There had been others before her, of course, but looking back I understood that, whatever their qualities, I had not been wise enough – old enough, perhaps – to appreciate them. She was different. The feel of her warmth against my thighs, morning and evening and often in between as well, was something that I savoured to a degree that had been absent from my youthful dalliances with other, sometimes even prettier, partners.

I drove recklessly, cutting off an elderly lady in a Micra trying to ease out of a side street, sending a group of schoolchildren leaping back from a zebra crossing. I was in pain now, and I shifted my buttocks on the seat and grabbed my pants with one hand to adjust them as best I could.

Had I strayed? Yes, I won’t deny it. I am a man, and man is a fallen creature. Sordid contacts in dim foetid chambers with dirty substitutes whom I’d never respected afterwards. Rising after the act in disgust on each occasion, I had returned home and my guilt had dissolved in the throes of my passionate reacquaintances with her.

I slammed to a stop on the forecourt and flung the car door open so hard that it bounced back into me as I leaped from the seat, and as I ran for the front door I was vaguely aware that the car door hadn’t closed behind me but I didn’t care, because the animal need was on me now like the grip of a fever dream, and it was the wrong fucking key try another come on come on and then I was through the door and usually we played a game in which I would call out to her, pretending I didn’t know where she was, but this time I ran straight to where I knew she’d be and hurled open the door and oh my God, there she was, open and silent and teasing and my frantic gaze was drawn to the exposed hole and I scrabbled with my buckle and wrenched down my trousers and pants and with a roar I mounted her.


OHLORDOHMIGHTYMIGHTYJESUSYESTHATSSO
GOODSOFUCKINGGOODOHMYGODDONTSTOPDONTEVER
STOPAHNECTAROHYESYESAAAIIIAAAAAAHHH!!!


I collapsed, spent, in the peace afterwards, basking in the warm bliss and murmuring words that meant more precisely because they didn’t make sense. After a while I raised myself and looked down at her. It had been fierce, and there was a little blood, but I smiled when I wiped and saw the staining was scant.

I love you, I whispered.


I stood, buttoned, buckled, tucked, zipped, and flushed, and went to look for a smoke.



(Inspired by this.)