TheDeceased
Ex-Bluelighter
"Yeah mayte, whip down to fucken' Shoppo and pick up a six pack would ya? Cheers," Benny hangs up the phone triumphantly, "Told ya, he fucken' does whateva I tell him."
"Shoulda asked for a slab." Some amused grunts from across the room.
Benny picks back up the phone. "Yeah, fucken' - uh - make it a slab would ya mayte? Alright." He hangs it back up.
The boys are clearly quite excited at the prospect of more beverages. Some of them are bouncing up and down in anticipation. One, who doesn't deserve a name, interrupts the testosterone-fuelled silence:
"I eva tell you about that time I was fucken' that Italian chick? Fucken' Dolmio surprise right on the end of my cock!"
More amused grunts. Some of them manage to laugh, which is quite an achievement considering how many times they've heard it before.
"Fucking anal week, right?" another bloke, playing his part in the old routine. "Turn her over and make the fucken' best of it. Right boys?"
A grunt. A snicker. That's it. No laughs for round two. An ape in the corner coughs. Stale cigarette smoke lingers across calloused knuckles. The clock ticks until the door opens.
"Jhonno! Fucken' right on time mate."
Drinks are distributed. Benny hands one to me.
"I don't drink beer," I say.
Everything around me stops. The smell of sweat is overwhelming. I wonder if anyone of them has ever had a shower. It smells like the inside of an ass mixed with a dozen different cheap deodorants. They all stare at me, and then they start grunting:
"Since when? What do you drink? Fucken' milk, ya little pussy? You want a glass of wine?"
"Nah, I'm not drinking."
"Why the fuck not mate?"
"I think I'm an alcoholic."
The room is silent for a moment and then everyone starts laughing.
Benny hands me the beer again and says: "We're all fucken' alcos."
"Shoulda asked for a slab." Some amused grunts from across the room.
Benny picks back up the phone. "Yeah, fucken' - uh - make it a slab would ya mayte? Alright." He hangs it back up.
The boys are clearly quite excited at the prospect of more beverages. Some of them are bouncing up and down in anticipation. One, who doesn't deserve a name, interrupts the testosterone-fuelled silence:
"I eva tell you about that time I was fucken' that Italian chick? Fucken' Dolmio surprise right on the end of my cock!"
More amused grunts. Some of them manage to laugh, which is quite an achievement considering how many times they've heard it before.
"Fucking anal week, right?" another bloke, playing his part in the old routine. "Turn her over and make the fucken' best of it. Right boys?"
A grunt. A snicker. That's it. No laughs for round two. An ape in the corner coughs. Stale cigarette smoke lingers across calloused knuckles. The clock ticks until the door opens.
"Jhonno! Fucken' right on time mate."
Drinks are distributed. Benny hands one to me.
"I don't drink beer," I say.
Everything around me stops. The smell of sweat is overwhelming. I wonder if anyone of them has ever had a shower. It smells like the inside of an ass mixed with a dozen different cheap deodorants. They all stare at me, and then they start grunting:
"Since when? What do you drink? Fucken' milk, ya little pussy? You want a glass of wine?"
"Nah, I'm not drinking."
"Why the fuck not mate?"
"I think I'm an alcoholic."
The room is silent for a moment and then everyone starts laughing.
Benny hands me the beer again and says: "We're all fucken' alcos."
