0 comments/ 1772 views/ 2 favorites Cocaine Trash A Novel By: nikoalessandro Foreword 'There's an interminable fog about the place; a fog that surrounds my body at all times, a fog that seeps all the way through into my mind. I can never get it to go, and sometimes I feel like I'm living a solitary existence in a secluded, remote cave in the middle of fucking nowhere. And I don't even get the sight of a misty coated sea to gaze at; for me it's just a grey and horrid sight, with a trail of pollution drifting through into my cave in unravelling smoke. I guess I should be glad, really, that I have this cave to shelter me from it all. Yes, I guess I should be.' SEXY HORNY LAUREN The door opens and Lauren and I walk into the room. Lauren is looking particularly nice today, and I notice that she's put in a lot of effort. 'You look nice,' I say as I walk past the wardrobe and over to the wooden desk with the small TV on top of it. It's a nicer room than the others: a great place to do a bit of coke and fuck a prostitute senseless. While Lauren takes off her loose black coat, revealing a black and pink corset- one that I recognise from our numerous money-for-sex liaisons before- I take out my sachet of coke and pour some out onto the desk. I then take out my NatWest card and begin separating the coke out in fine straight lines. 'Want some?' I say, glancing over my shoulder at Lauren, who's now walking over to the double bed in the centre of the room. 'No, I'm fine,' she says. She gets up onto the bed and lies gently back down on it. I watch as she leans slightly up on her elbows and watches me with a lascivious, seductive gaze before I turn back to the lurid lines of coke on the desk. Taking out a five pound note, I roll it up and take a hard, quick, spirited snort. Immediately, I feel the buzz. It goes straight to my head, and I feel the highly charged effect of the white, potent powder in all its exhilarating, death defying glory. 'What a fucking feeling,' I think; 'it's always a great fucking feeling for me, never a single let down.' I drop the now contaminated £5 note down on the desk and turn around to look at Lauren. She's lying there on the bed, staring at me sultrily and giving me the look that she knows I want to see: a look of lust, sexual need, and devilish, yearning desire. The coke's made me feel intense, and I'm staring at Lauren with my own look of raging lasciviousness. And I know she's registering it as well; I know it's helping her decide how she's going to please me with that titillating young body of hers. Quickly, I take out the £60 that is owed to her from my coat pocket and chuck it onto the mattress; then, throwing my coat to my side, I walk forward over to the bed and get up onto it, my hands and knees sinking gently into the soft linen duvet cover. We start off with a couple of minutes of French kissing, an act that never ceases to please me. The one thing I love about Sexy horny Lauren is that, unlike other escorts I've been with, she actually does French kissing. For some reason, every other prostitute I become acquainted with seems to have reservations about doing it; it's either because they want to save it for 'the real man in their lives', or it's because they've seen Pretty Woman too many fucking times; fuck, I hate that movie; it should be made to burn in cinematic hell and to perish from women's naïve, impressionable minds. As soon as I've had enough of the sensual French kissing, I back my face away from Lauren's and watch her undress while she simultaneously looks at me rather cheekily, that womanly grin of hers all too overwhelmingly sexy. Her corset and knickers are soon off, and I waste no time at all in feeling her beautiful, voluptuous breasts in the clutches of my adoring hands. They feel like warm, smooth rubber to me, like soft, durable silicone. 'You haven't had a boob job have you?' I say, observing how similar they feel to some of the dancers at Lace strip club. 'No I haven't,' she says, looking at me as if she's let me down in some way. 'Just checkin',' I say. I pull a raunchy, witty grin and then, pushing my face right up close to hers, resume with the sexually invigorating French kissing while continuing to fondle with her ever pleasing breasts. I'm getting really fucking turned on now, and the speedy sensation of the coke is getting to its peak, its pinnacle of pleasure-ruled perfection. I find myself caressing Lauren's neck with tender, reverent kisses and get even more turned on when she starts moaning all lustfully and girlishly. She knows that's what I want to hear; she knows that's what all her punters want to hear, something to egg their desires on even more and to help them fuel the fire of their rampant sexual ardour. 'You make me so fucking hard Lauren,' I say, my eyes closed, and my face shoved into the warm flesh of her yielding neck. I can sense her cloying perfume: it smells like all prostitutes' perfume- that sickly, sweet smell that makes you feel adrenalized and giddy all over; it only enhances my sexual cravings even more and sends me into a frenzy of true, unbounded concupiscence. Withdrawing my face from Lauren's, I lift my black t-shirt up over my chest and let Lauren suck both my hard nipples with her wet tongue. As she nibbles on them with both gentleness and teasing fervour, I feel a compelling craving for her to sink her luminous, candy like teeth into my flesh and pierce through into the torrents of my searing blood. It's like some kind of vampire fantasy/ fetish. I want to feel the pain; I want to feel truly alive and make the most of this gargantuan cocaine-induced euphoria. Staring down at Lauren, who's now licking my chest like some kind of mad Egyptian cat, I glide my fingers through her thick, plentiful hair and notice how she kind of reminds me of a doll: a beautiful flesh made doll with the most perfectly constructed face. I guess it's because of her voluminous hair, which falls down both sides of her elegant head like heaps of lustrous silk. It could also be because of the soft, graceful shape of her head, which looks intricately carved out of the most magical, blossoming rose. Either way, she couldn't appear any less doll like to me right now. Soon down to my waist, she begins pulling down my black denim jeans and white boxers with her soft fingers, her painted nails lightly jabbing the flesh near my groin. Straight away my erect cock bounces up and points up laterally towards her chest. What great intensity I feel throughout my hedonistically overloaded body. I feel the lust run potently wild in my veins; I feel surged with unprecedented sexual power that thrives like soaring, turbulent electricity. I'm going to fuck this woman hard; I'm going to fuck this woman like she's the only one to fuck in the whole fucked up world. I beckon to Lauren to turn around, and as she gets on all fours, I stare down at her nude, finely toned arse. 'That's right,' I say, my voice quiet but full of flourishing, sleazoid passion. She's slowly teasing me by rocking back and forth against my crotch, and it just makes my balls even more determined in their conducting selves. 'Yes, that's right,' I say, my voice now quivering in carnal passion. Gradually, I move myself forward and, placing both my hands on her arse, slap her quite hard on her left cheek. It's a downward slap, and I can see the faint red imprint slowly form on the surface of her skin. But she likes it. She always likes it when I spank her like that. You see the truth is that Lauren, like a great percentage of other sex workers, is a sex addict. That's why she does what she does; she loves the sight of a rock hard, sturdy penis being shoved right in her face; that plus the money. As I whirl my hands over her enchanting arse, she glances back at me over her shoulder with communicative eyes. 'Shall I get a condom from my coat?' she says. 'No, no need,' I reply, 'I've got one.' I pull out a Durex 'extra safe' from my jean pocket and hastily open the small plastic packet up. Once it's out, I roll it skilfully onto my stiff cock and prepare to insert it into Lauren's tight little cunt, which already looks quite lubricous and penetrable. Before I do this though, I place my left hand in-between her thigh and rub at her shaven cunt and clit to get her nice and excited with an upsurge of inflamed horniness. She moans when I do this, and I can tell that she's trying to get herself even wetter for me. She always does whatever she can to please her dedicated, paying clients. She's a real fucking professional this Lauren is. 'Yea, you like that don't you?' I say, my fingers becoming drenched in a treacly juice like substance as they gently descend into the moist redness of her cunt. 'Love it,' she says, her words slow and soft like a collection of faintly clashing waves. 'Don't need to tell me that Lauren,' I say, my voice slow as well. 'I know you love it.' Positioning my left hand on her left arse cheek, my fingers digging gingerly into her flesh, I grab hold of my cock with my other hand and begin inserting it slowly into her naturally lubricated cunt. It goes in quickly, and, straight away, I sense the thrilling warmth of her superlative inner beauty. She moans, and I spank her ardently again, another downward slap. 'Man I want to fuck your arse. Will you let me fuck your arse?' I say, starting to slowly thrust back and forth into Lauren. 'Ha,' she laughs. 'Everybody seems to want to fuck my arse. And I always say no. It's for special occasions only.' 'This is a special occasion,' I say, beginning to go faster on her, sweat exuding from my heated skin from the physical exertion. 'I'm high on coke, and I'm fucking you on a Travelodge bed.' She laughs again, and I laugh too, accepting that anal is a no-no on this occasion. I lean myself forward towards her back and wrap my hands around her chest. Her tits feel so ridiculously good, and they definitely remind me of some of the dancers' tits at Lace strip club. 'You sure you haven't had a secret boob job?' I say. 'They really do feel fucking great.' 'My boobs always feel great,' replies Lauren, stating the obvious fucking truth. I turn her around and get her legs up over my utilized, blood-pumped shoulders. Gripping my hands around her knees, I then start thrusting back and forth rhythmically into her and feel, with full force, the pleasure unravel in spirals of ferocious tornados in my mind. It's as I start going at her hard that we share the most intimate eye contact with each other; I feel more connected with the woman than I've ever felt before, and it's as if she's the most perfect, definitive lover to me; a woman better than any bland old soul mate. 'You see how hard you make me Lauren?' I say, looking down at my cock and watching it go smoothly in and out of Lauren's throbbing wet cunt. 'I'm going to fuck you so hard.' With my hands engulfed around her smooth, hairless skin, I hold her calves tightly and push those divinely soft legs of hers even more out into the air so that they appear like a pair of rippling butterfly wings. 'Fuck me hard,' she says, staring up at the ceiling and closing her eyes as her tits wobble around dynamically in circles. 'Yea, I will fuck you hard,' I say; 'I will fuck you so hard.' I start going faster and faster and, building up a good sweat, feel my heart pound away in my chest like a pneumatic drill. Then, suddenly, not even in control of myself, I stop and pant, my lungs burning from their intense function. 'I think I'll have to do some more coke,' I say, looking at Lauren and nodding in some kind of speed-fuelled frenzy. 'Fuck me, definitely some more coke.' Hurriedly, I get up off the bed and jog over to the desk, my cock stiff, hard, and surrounded by latex. 'You sure you don't want any?' I call back. 'No, no, I'm not into that stuff.' 'Not into it?' I say, almost surprised by what I'm hearing. 'You should be. It's great you know; gives you a buzz like no other.' I lean right forward over the desk and proceed to snort a huge line of fine, smooth powder. 'A buzz like no other,' I say, rubbing at my nose and feeling that devil's dandruff hit my bloodstream in blizzard like style. With the coke now taking strong effect, I turn to look at Lauren who appears like an angel in a series of flashing, distorted images in my vision; she looks absolutely breathtaking, like nothing I've ever seen before. 'Will you ride me Lauren?' I say, sniffing and experiencing a mild sting in both my eye balls. Lauren, leaning back on her elbows, gives me a sultry smile and replies, 'Whatever you want.' Fuck, I think, this is a great fucking moment in my life. I'm standing here fully naked in a cheap hotel room, high on coke, my cock solid and hard, and I'm staring at an absolute goddess who's at the mercy of my many sexual needs and demands. Fuck, it really couldn't get any better than this! Grinning cheekily at Lauren, I run over to the bed and leap up excitedly onto it. I lie down and, staring up at the ceiling, wait in thrilling anticipation for Lauren to get on top of me and ride the living shit out of me. It's as her bare breasts traverse over my chest like congenial cushions that I sense the potent warmth of them; they hover millimetres above my skin and cause a beautiful tingling sensation to arise in my receptive body and aid my pleasure. With her now fully on top of me, I place both my hands on her arse, squeeze it, and spank her right cheek twice so that it leaves a nice, fresh handprint on the surface of her skin. This generates a moan from her, and it's not long before she pushes her face down to mine and, her rosy scented hair brushing fleecily against my face, kisses me tenderly on the lips. As I feel hers against mine, I think how elegant, how beautifully made out her young 20 year old face is. Her lips are thin but full of suppleness; and her Czech Republic skin feels warmer than a tropical ocean heated by the swarming rays of a fully risen sun. Beautiful, just beautiful. Soon my cock is in her hand, and she begins sliding it up into her moisture-laden cunt before proceeding to straddle me in the dominant style of an elated female wrestler. I can't help but squeeze her arse in pure ardour, and I leave my hands there as I gaze deeply into her two piercing sea green eyes. They're truly gorgeous eyes, and I absolutely adore the mascara she's wearing today; it seems to have made her eyes bigger, more oval shaped, than they actually are and her irises more profoundly vivid in colour: all a perfect complement to a supremely gorgeous face. I spank her avidly some more, and I watch as she closes her eyes to display a look of fake, but convincing, orgasmic ecstasy. Her lips part slightly like an opening rose in the summertime, and the tips of her porcelain like teeth are revealed in all their sheer elegance and splendour. Continuing to spank her, I'm delighted when she starts straddling me even more vigorously than before. I can really feel her employed cunt on my cock, and it makes me grip her arse in my hands with wild, feral passion. 'Oh that's it,' I say as I gaze up at her beautiful, bouncing breasts, watching them move about faster and faster. I feel almost ready to come from the insurmountable pleasure. 'Fuck, you're so fucking gorgeous.' 'You like to be ridden like this?' she says, her voice sounding more feminine and erotic than ever. 'Fuckin' love it,' I reply, her flesh now the only thing on my deeply lascivious mind. Sensually, I place my hands on her tits and feel myself on the brink of orgasm. 'I'm gonna come in a bit,' I say; 'mind if I come on your tits?' 'I'd love for you to come on my tits,' she responds. She gazes sultrily down at my face, her eyes truly stunning in my arbitrary cocaine-fuelled haze, and lets her lips pulsate slightly in rhythm to her lustfully cathartic moans. 'Alright, I'll come on them in a minute; just going to enjoy this feeling for a little bit longer.' As I take alternating glances at her tits and face, I feel myself ready to shoot my oncoming load, a load that I know is going to come in huge spurting heaps. 'Right, you ready for it?' I say. 'I'm gonna come fuckin' hard on your tits.' 'Ok,' says Lauren, still absorbed in her energetic straddling. 'Say when.' The sweet, orgasmic feeling sharpens, and then I, at the very point of my immitigable orgasm, leap up off Lauren and grab my cock audaciously with my right hand. Getting on her knees, Lauren stares up at my face, anticipating in pure engagement the hot, creamy jizz that's going to come spraying out in huge bursts onto her rubbery tits at any moment. She's waiting for it, and it's as I clasp my left hand around the back of her head that I proceed to masturbate vigorously in the direction of her- soon to be absolutely fucking soaked- chest. A spray of hot cum ejaculates from my cock, and I moan and grunt in intense, out of control pleasure. I watch as the sinewy strings of semen shoot out onto her tits in several hot spurts and then pant heavily as my orgasm slowly begins to die like a fading, subduing star. 'Fuck me,' I say, taking my hand off Lauren's head and collapsing down onto the bed. Laying there, breathing and sweating heavily, I watch as Lauren falls down next to me, the cum slowly trickling down her breasts like mucky condensation on a window. 'Well,' I say, gazing at her rosy face, laughing lightly as she gives me this sultry, kinky look. 'Was it as good for you as it was for me?' She returns a cheeky, almost devilish, smile and continues to look at me as I avert my gaze up at the white ceiling, my balls feeling virtually empty and drained of all their fluids. 'So, what do you want to do now?' she says. 'We've still got some time.' 'Mmm, not sure,' I say, pondering. 'Think I'll do another line of coke maybe.' I nod, a little pensively, but nearly fully decisive. 'Yea, another line of coke will do this all justice.' With my erection still far from limp, I leap up off the bed and jog over to the desk to do another line of the most exhilarating white powder. SOME INTOXICATED DREAM I'm standing in the sunshine and everything's so fucking cold man; it's so fucking cold, even though I've got sweat trickling down both sides of my face like swift, rapid cascades. I need warmth, but my body can't attain warmth in its present state. It's feverishly cold from my coke and alcohol comedown. A couple of bottles of water should do the trick. It's much later, and I'm in this nightclub. I'm lying on one of the long sofas, loud music pumping out from the speakers above in one heavy, distorted haze, and I can see one of the bouncers, a big hefty fucker with tattoos trailing all the way up his left forearm; he's giving me a real hostile look like he wants to smash my fucking face in; though I'm so fucking out of it by now that I don't give a shit. All I'm focusing on is the salty taste that's formed in my mouth, and I'm wondering when the vomits going to come spraying out. Man, I'm dreading the headache; I'm dreading that nausea that comes with it too. I get out of the nightclub, fortunately unharmed or roughed up by the bouncer, and manage to stumble up towards the local KFC on the left of the rather astir street. I stop and lean against the wall. Then, before I know it, a load of yeasty white and purple vomit comes gushing out of my mouth. I can practically feel my stomach contract as it repeatedly purges more and more vomit up. I'm spraying the shit all over the wall, and I can hear the groups of young lads coming down the pavement to my right laugh at the sight of me purging. If I was them I'd be laughing too, but I'm not, I'm really fucking not. I fall right into a cab and immediately smack my head on the opposite door. I can hear the driver moaning in the front; he's a right cunt, but I'm so fucked that it really doesn't matter. I'm actually grateful that he hasn't thrown me out and driven off in a callous, contemptuous rage like a lot of drivers. Cocaine Trash A Novel The taxi soon starts moving, and I try desperately not to throw up any more. I know I am going to later though- it's inevitable after a mix of hard drugs and alcohol- but I'm trying to postpone it. I'm trying, in a kind of etiquette, not to throw up in this cunt's taxi. I'm out of the vehicle now, and I'm heading straight for my flat. Everything's spinning out of control; my balance is fucked, and my vision is deeply grainy in the murky nocturnal atmosphere. Once I'm inside, I collapse onto the floor in the main room and start chucking up loads of bilious vomit again. My stomach's ejecting it involuntarily now, and I have lost all control, all ability to stop it. I can feel my face become soaked in the thick, slimy substance. My mouth tastes like pure saline, and my eyes ache unpalatably as they press uncomfortably into the floor. Grimacing, I close my eyes and try desperately not to think about the oncoming headache. I'm in a fucking jungle. A fucking jungle. I've always hated jungles: they've always given me the creeps; I've always had a nasty phobia of snakes, big ones or little ones, and tarantulas and piranhas. This is the one place I don't want to be. I'm roaming through an abundance of green, and I can hear these fucking hissing noises- up above, down below, everywhere. Fuck. I've also got this immense thirst, and it's making me more afraid of my surroundings. It's like a swamp, this jungle; and it's dry, wet, damp, everything, with a particularly nasty, searing warmth surrounding me. Then, as I root through the fleshy green leaves, a big fucking snake falls down out of the sky and hits the ground just in front of my feet. Oh fuck! It's a big one, a big, thick black and yellow patterned one about the size of a tree trunk. I run, I fucking run; it's the only thing I want to do right now. I'm sweating so fucking badly, and all I can do is run, is fucking run man. Then another snake falls from the sky. It's one of those white, yellow patterned ones, and it's much thinner than the other. I stop right in front of it, and it starts hissing vehemently. Oh fuck me, oh fuck, fuck, fuck me! 'Ahhhhh!' I suddenly bellow, and my surroundings soon turn black. I'm conscious, and I'm sweating. I'm sweating profusely. I'm thirsty too. I'm so fucking thirsty. Looking around, I see that I'm in a dark room, my bedroom. Past the two turquoise coloured curtains, I can see the small round orange lamp outside emitting its usual tangerine glow out onto the street. I gaze at that glow for a moment as I try to calm myself down from my unpleasant nightmare. Then I look down at the mattress I'm lying on. It reeks of noxious mould; but it's a smell I recognize all too well. I can see that the sheets are soaking wet, drenched in my profusion of toxin heavy sweat. 'A bad dream,' I think. 'A bad fucking dream.' Gently, I lay my head back into my pillow and try to relax. I know I should really head off to the bathroom and drink some tap water to hydrate myself, but I feel too fatigued to do so, way too fatigued. I just rest my head back in my pillow and close my eyes. I'm in another jungle, another fucking jungle. I'm pretty sure it's the same one as before. I look around and see that I'm surrounded by hundreds of big black tarantulas with big dangling legs sprouting from their ghastly abdomens. I'm sweating, badly. I want to move but can't. All around me are these big fucking black spiders. Then, as I stand there succumbing to my cowardly fear, a huge, pillow sized tarantula comes dangling down on a big, cloth like web that resembles one of my bed undersheets. It stops in front of my eyes, and I stare at it in utter trepidation, my face drenched in sweat. As I gaze at its big almond like abdomen, I notice the cluttering of thick, black hairs all over it. Then I stare at the vile thing's many eyes which surround its hideous, unsightly head. It's terrifying, truly terrifying. I open my eyes and scream. GLASS TABLE ANTICS Corey's in his bathroom, freebasing. He's been in there for about 20 minutes now while I, Louis, and David have been snorting lines off a rectangular shaped glass table. Man, the buzz. What a fucking buzz. I take my 4th line and watch my surroundings flicker manically in my mind like a fucked light. David's proper fucked by now, but he keeps going, he always keeps going when he shouldn't. His tolerance is high, but you can tell he's fucked himself up. His face always has this purple touch to it now; his black pupils have turned somewhat cat like in appearance; and I swear his once blue irises have faded into a bluish green colour. 'Fuckin' Kerry, naggin' at me, bitch,' he says, moving his eyeballs about and rubbing agitatedly at his face. 'Don't let her get to you, you're the man. You're the fuckin' man,' says Louis, slowly sucking up a line with a rolled up, torn piece of card from a packet of proplus. 'Yea, I tell her just that. I tell her that I'm the fuckin' man, and that she's the fuckin' slag around here, but she don't listen, the stupid fuckin' bitch. Always tellin' me what to do, tellin' me to get a job and to stop fuckin' stealin' shit. And I tell her "shut the fuck up bitch." Sometimes I just want to hit the bitch if she gets on me nerves too much. I swear, fuckin' cunt better start layin' off me, or she's gonna get hurt.' I'm starting to get really fucking irritated by David going on about his disgrace of a girlfriend. He has a habit of pissing me off; in particular when I'm trying to enjoy the pleasure of a couple of lines. He drones on about shit that is irrelevant at times like this; this is a time for getting high and off your rocks; and not having to hear about somebody's fucking personal affairs on the domestic front. The last thing I want to hear about right now is his fat bitch of a girlfriend, Kerry. Fuck man, the last thing I want to hear. I finish my current line, and everything's expeditious in my mind. It's like my vision's flickering with the voices around me seeming strong and uncannily intense. I glance at Louis and watch him take his time snorting his line. 'Louis man, you should fucking snort that up in one go,' I tell him. 'It's a better buzz believe me.' Louis glances up at me and smiles with one of his really fucking irritating looks; it's like a sardonic jeer, and it fucks me off immensely. 'Ah, you got to go slow if you want to really appreciate it,' he replies. I'm about to arrange another line from the small heap of coke on the table when suddenly Louis' words register in my mind with high frequency. 'No, you got it fucking wrong Louis,' I say, somewhat outraged by his preposterous ideology of cocaine snorting. 'You got to go fucking fast man. Fucking fast if you want that buzz. You're doing it all fucking wrong Louis, you know that? All wrong. You're gonna end up with fucked cartilage the way you're doing it.' Louis nods his head (his way of telling me to shut the fuck up) and resumes snorting his line at the speed of a slow truckin' snail. Meanwhile David, having taken a break from his own line, is staring at the opposite wall while continuing to ramble on about his corpulent fucking girlfriend. I feel like saying, 'David, shut the fuck up about Kerry. Nobody wants to hear about that fat fucking monstrosity of a wretch right now. Keep your trap shut for 5 fuckin' minutes about her, will ya?' But I don't; I keep my trap shut, try to blank out David, and get back to snorting some seriously good shit of my pal Corey's. As I take the rapid sniff of the exhilarating shit that we've all been sorting out with our NatWest cards, Corey comes out of the bathroom. I hear the door slam violently back against the wall in one clamorous thud, and, deeply perturbed by the noise, I look up and glance over my shoulder. There, with misty smoke floating freely about in the air, I see Corey; he's frozen by the door in his Class A, freebase high, and he's looking ropey as fuck. 'Good shit?' says David, also glancing over his shoulder at Corey. Corey smiles, his eye balls appearing rather low in his face, and nods in a complete fuddled daze. Then, slowly moving his legs, he walks over to the side of the room and crashes with one thunderous thump into a wooden library case. 'Fucking hell Corey!' I say, relieved that he didn't crash anywhere near me. 'Fucking try to control your coordination man, for fuck sake.' 'Sorry mate, sorry mate,' mumbles Corey, jerking his body about like an oxygen deprived fish on top of several books. He pulls one out from underneath his head and runs his eyes over the front cover in a drunken, stupefied fashion before dropping the book on the floor and attempting to lift himself up. 'Does anyone else feel like their gums are on fire?' he says, digging his front teeth disconcertingly into his lower lip. 'I don't feel that at all,' I say, working out my glossy reflection in the glass table; it's incredible how dilated my pupils look, even without the potent black in the translucent surface. 'Fuck, I must be fucked man,' says Corey. He definitely looks pretty hot with huge oily trails of perspiration all over his rancid face; it's almost an obscene sight, like a sweaty, fungal infected rash. 'Have a fucking gin and tonic,' I say, pushing my face closer to the table, mesmerised by the reflection of my large, disc-like pupils. 'I think I fucking will,' says Corey. 'I think I fucking need a gin and tonic.' Corey gets himself halfway up and, after swaying for a bit, staggers over to the fridge in the kitchen compartment at the very right of the room. 'I fucking need a gin and tonic,' he repeats. The sound of bottles and plastic clanging together emerges as Corey opens the fridge. I glance to my left at him and watch in envy as he takes out a can of Gordon's and Swepp's. It looks chilled and refreshing, and in no time at all he's clicking it open and is taking a large, hearty swig. 'Fuck, what a drink,' he says, licking his lips with his wet tongue that looks like a piece of severely undercooked steak. 'That's a good fucking spirit man,' I say. Now I'm feeling that strong, yielding urge to consume a gin and tonic. 'You got another one in there?' 'You'd be a lucky cunt if I do,' replies Corey. He turns around and opens the fridge back up. 'Ah, you lucky cunt, got a couple left.' Taking another one out, he chucks it at me, and I catch it in my left hand, not hesitating for a second to open that shit up. Corey looks at David and Louis and points sternly at them both. 'David and Louis, I ain't gonna give you two any, caus you're both a pair of cunts.' 'Oh you cheeky cunt,' says David, sounding genuinely outraged. 'Ah, only joking mate.' Corey takes out another can from the fridge and throws it at David who catches it. He then takes out another one and throws it at Louis who just manages to catch it in his puny little hands. I'm wondering if Louis, by any chance, has smoked a lot of weed today as his demeanour seems really doped out; even so, though, the coke should have at least some kind of stimulating effect on his cognitive processes. We all take a temporary break from the coke and enjoy the refreshing taste of a good, cold gin and tonic, Corey leaning back against his fridge, and I, David, and Louis on his comfortable brown leather sofa. 'So, David, tell us about what's going down with you and your missus,' says Corey. 'Oh don't get him fucking started,' I say; I'd just managed to get the image of that obese monstrosity out of my head. 'Shut your mouth,' says David, slapping me lightly around the back of my head. 'I'll tell you about me fuckin' missus,' he says, pointing his chunky finger at Corey. 'She's a fuckin' smacked up tart who should stop fuckin' naggin' at me and leave me be. The fuckin' bitch.' 'She needs to lose some fucking weight man,' I say. 'Oy cunt, that's my girlfriend you're talking about,' says David. 'But yea actually, she has gotta fuckin' lose some weight hasn't she. Fucking fat bitch. I tell her. I say, "Bitch, lay off that fuckin' mayonnaise will ya?" But the bitch don't listen.' 'You should get her on that Hellmann's light stuff,' I say. David's about to say something when he stops, looks at me, and shakes his head in resentment. 'Cheeky cunt.' 'Doesn't taste as good as the original though does it?' says Corey, looking at me, genuinely absorbed in the topic of Hellmann's mayonnaise. 'No comparison,' I reply. 'Hey, enough of the shit about Hellmann's mayo alright? I'm tryin' to tell you about all the grief I'm gettin' from me missus.' 'Alright mate, go on then,' says Corey. 'Right,' says David, building up to saying something that he thinks is going to be deep and profound. 'Oh fuck it. Just fuck the bitch, just fuck that fat bitch.' We all laugh. 'Wayhayyyy!' I say, clapping, the gin and tonic still clasped in my hand. 'Fuckin' bitch she is, I tell ya,' says David. He takes a large swig of his drink, a bit worked up and rubicund in the face. 'Let the gin and tonic do its effect mate,' says Corey. Swigging on his drink, Corey takes a long hard look at Louis. I can tell by his jeering smile that he thinks, like me, that Louis is a cunt. 'Right there Louis? You seem a bit quiet over there.' 'Haha, just working the buzz,' says Louis, looking down at his still relatively intact line of white powder. I know that he's not working the buzz, far, far from working the buzz. 'That's right, you work that buzz Louis. You enjoy the complimentary coke that was not fucking easy for me to get.' 'You still stealing cars man?' I enquire. 'Nah mate,' says Corey; 'I've given up that shit. There's nothing to be made from stealing cars anymore. Nout. No, actually, I'm making cash from dealing Es and ketamine. I'm bringing in 600 a week from selling that shit.' 'What, you robbing stables now are you?' I say. For some reason, I picture several large stallions roaming about a field in a fog of hashish smoke. 'Nah, someone else does that for me. A guy named Gary. I rip him off big time and sell it for double what he sells it to me for.' 'Wise sales moves,' I say. 'I should do the same.' 'Fuck yea man. It's better than that dole shit. You still on that are you?' 'Yea, they pay me rent,' I say; 'but I'm doing a bit of robbing on the side for the drugs and escorts. I was also thinking about getting into selling antiques.' 'Antiques,' says Corey, a little jeeringly; 'check out David Dickinson without the orange tan.' I laugh a little, even if I am taking the piss out of myself a little too self deprecatingly. We're all getting leisurely through our drinks when a couple of loud, abrupt knocks emerge on the front door in the other room. 'Fuck man, who's that?' I say, suspecting the worst and picturing two pink pigs in uniforms standing on the porch. 'I don't smell bacon,' says Corey. He puts his can down on the kitchen side and, seeming relatively unperturbed and nonchalant, moves over to the other room. David, myself, and Louis sit there on the sofa and listen with burning curiosity to the sounds of Corey unfastening the chain off his front door. 'Who the fuck could it be?' we're all wondering. The door opens, and a woman's resonating voice is immediately heard. I close my eyes when I recognise the voice to be that of David's girlfriend, Kerry. 'Corey, is David in?' comes the voice; it actually sounds rather sensitive and caring, and this really surprises me. 'Oh for fuck sake,' says David, slapping his forehead hard. 'Fuck, how did she know I was here? I didn't tell her that I was here.' He looks at me. 'Did you tell her that I was here?' I shake my head. 'Did you?' he says, looking at Louis. Louis shakes his head. 'Fuck sake,' says David, banging his head back against the sofa. I hear Corey from the other room. 'Yea, he's just in the main room,' he says; 'would you care for a gin and tonic?' 'Oh fuck!' exclaims David, now banging his head repeatedly back against the sofa. Before David can even try to come to terms with the situation, Kerry's large, vociferous feet come stomping into the room. 'There you are you fucking cunt!' she bellows, staring menacingly at David, her face appearing round and chubby with a miniature staircase of flab below her chin. I stare at her. Her body looks even fatter than I'd remembered it to be, and her face is just so fucking round. She's also got these ridiculously black painted-on eye brows that match her grimy black hair. She is like the ultimate life form of Shrek, and fuck is it disturbing. 'Oh this is what you're doing! Taking drugs while I'm at home trying to sort out your fucking jobsearch for Friday. You mucky cunt!' 'You shut your fucking mouth bitch!' says David in retaliation, standing abruptly up. 'I'm with my mates, and we're having a quiet drink and some coke.' 'Oh you're chillin' are you!? Well good for you! Good for you, you useless fucking cunt! Don't bother trying to find a way of finding a job ay?' 'I've got a means of making money.' 'Oh stealing and dealing shit to people!?' 'Yea, that's right! I sell that shit to them, and they fuckin' love it!' 'Well good for you cunt! Good for you!' 'Yea, very good for me bitch, very good indeed.' 'Wanker fuck face prick cunt shithead!' 'You silly fat tart.' It's just then that Kerry, leaping her obese self forward, grabs David's gin and tonic out of his hand and splashes it over him. 'You fuckin' bitch! I'm drenched now. I'm fuckin' drenched, and I've lost me gin and tonic.' 'Here, have another one,' says Kerry. Out of the blue, she snatches my can out of my hand and proceeds to pour it all over David. I watch as the liquid splatters over him like a pregnant woman's waters breaking. 'Fuckin' bitch! Look at me; I'm soaked to the bone!' 'Good! I hope you fuckin' are cunt!' With the same vociferous footsteps as before, Kerry turns around and storms out of the room. We're all pretty fucking relieved that her hideously monstrous presence is no more in the room. 'Cunt!' she roars, slamming the front door behind her. David, looking like he's just come out of a swimming pool, shakes his head. 'Deirdre fuckin' Barlow. Can you believe that shit?' He looks at us all, expecting sympathy and not getting any. 'You need to get yourself a new bird mate,' says Corey. 'You're right there Corey my son, you're fuckin' right there,' says David. 'Fuckin' hell man. That was a good gin and tonic as well.' 'So...' says Corey, 'what now?' 'I think I need a fucking line of coke after that,' says David. 'Yea, me too,' says Louis. 'She was fucking horrific.' 'Fuck off mate, that's my bird you're talking about.' Suddenly, we all start laughing, David the most. 10 seconds later, a thick line of coke goes up David's nose like a henry hoover sucking up dust. STACY 'STINKIN' CROTCH! I walk on through the two doors of the job centre entrance, which have now been replaced after, the other week, a claimant, a fucked off claimant, drove his car through the entrance and caused over £2000 worth of damage. All I can say is, 'Good for you son, good for you.' Anyway, I walk on through the doors, and I'm greeted, with as much hostility as the fucking cunt can give me in one gaze, by a security guard who is shorter than me, fatter than me, and just plain nastier than me. Once I'm past that prick, I walk over to the blue and red, rectangular shaped sofa and sit down next to some geezer in army trousers who keeps staring at me in a rather pugnacious way. I know right away that the guy's a cunt, and that he very probably thinks I'm a cunt too; but hey, the feeling's mutual my job seeker friend. 30 fucking minutes later and this fucking ugly bitch of a woman with red manky hair and a loathsomely freckle-cluttered face calls my name. 'Mr Speck,' she says in her whiny, oscillating little voice, typical of many thick British women. Cocaine Trash A Novel Slowly, and deeply exasperated from the wait, I get up off the sofa, smiling rather cockily at my job seeker friend, who's still waiting like a colossal cunt, and walk up to the unattractive fuck-monster job centre employee. 'Sorry for the slight wait, we're running late today,' she says, staring down at some pointless piece of paper on her desk. 'Oh are you?' I think, giving her the evil rundown with my eyes, narrowing them at this perfect opportunity; 'oh fucking are you really bitch?' I sit down, breathe out, and take my jobsearch out of my right jacket pocket. I courteously hand it out to the woman, but she just stares at it and then at me, with this stupid fucking confused look on her face, like I'm some kind of errant spastic or something. 'Could you read it out for me please?' she says. 'Oh, you are one aren't you bitch, you are a real fucking one aren't you,' I think, the blood in my veins beginning to boil to a dangerous, bubbling level. I want to lean forward and rip her reptilian fucking throat out at this point, maybe fuck her first; nah, I think I'll just rip her fucking throat out. So, reading the absolutely fucking atrocious handwriting on my jobsearch, which is very nearly illegible I must say, I proceed to state out to this cunt the made up jobs that I've 'applied for' in the last fortnight. Once I've read it all out to her (which took about 10 fucking minutes, maybe longer), she takes the jobsearch from my hands and proceeds to thoroughly observe it with somewhat rapt eyes. 'Any response from any of the employers?' she says to me, handing me back the jobsearch. 'No, unfortunately not,' I say (if I was at all religious, I'd be crossing my fingers like a bitch I tell ya). Pushing forward a small square slip of paper she says, 'Could you sign here please with the date next to it.' She's not even looking at me as she says this, RUDE FUCKING BITCH! I sign with the date and then perfunctorily push the paper back to her, staring quite blatantly at the vast amount of freckles that lay scattered all over her fucking repellent face. She tells me to come back and sign on again in a fortnight; that is if I haven't got a job by then, which, having no real intention to work anyway, I fucking know I won't. Getting up, I have time to see the name of this bitch written on her name tag. Stacy Crotch, I see she's called, Stacy Crotch. 'Well, Stacy Crotch,' I think as I get up from my seat, gazing at the bitch with a feigned smile, 'I'll see you in a couple of weeks... STACY STINKIN' CROTCH!!' PUB There's a bloke sitting opposite me at the next table outside the pub. I'm sat here, a pint of Newcastle Brown in front of me, and I'm staring curiously at this bald plump bloke in his suit. He looks well off; he looks like the sort of bloke who deserves to be robbed. So what can I tell about this bloke from looking at him? I see that he's unhappy, not my fucking problem, and that he's probably tried every therapy in the book to cure himself of his male patterned, irremediable baldness. He looks like a car salesman to me, or maybe someone who sells phones for a living. He looks like the sort of chap that has a fairly ugly girlfriend but uses escorts on the side to satisfy his voracious sexual needs. I tell you, he looks like a real fuckin' raver man. I've already decided that I'm gonna rob this cunt of his wallet. I can see it lying on the table next to him on his left as he skims his eyes absorbingly over his mobile phone screen. I think he's making some Facebook update or something (he'll be needing to make another one in a little bit, one that goes like- pissed off, some cunt robbed me). So, how am I gonna do this? Of course I always pray that cunts like this will just head off to the gents and accidentally leave their wallets there on the table, but unfortunately, and inconveniently, they never do. I think I'll have to go for the, 'Sorry mate for accidentally falling on you and spilling my drink all over you. Accident honest' line. That should work. But do I really want to waste this fine Newcastle Brown over this bald headed, fucking corpulent bastard? Fuck it, it's worth it in the long run of things. Unrushed, I take a couple more sips of my drink, watching as this bald fuck of a guy stares incessantly at his snazzy little smartphone, and then, at a slow pace, get up off my seat. I always feel a little uneasy at awkward times like these, but never too uneasy (alcohol can certainly do its job in even half a pint of ale at lowering inhibitions to a satisfactory level). Right, here goes. I'm moving over to the cunt, and I'm preparing to nudge him, splash a little of my drink over him, which I'll blame on dodgy balance, and grab that fucking beguiling wallet in the process. I guess the real motivation in having the bollocks to do something like this is to 'just not think about it' and to 'just fucking go for it.' Abiding by those two simple rules has always helped me in carrying out thefts like these. And let me tell you it's a lot fucking easier to do when you've had a little bit to drink. 'Right ya cunt,' I think, getting closer to the unsuspecting geezer, and prudently making sure that my drink is clasped in my left hand. 'You keep your fuckin' eyes down there please.' I'm nearly there now, and the cunt is still looking down at his phone's screen, like he's transfixed in a megapixel heaven. I can now see that he is on Facebook. He's scrolling down his digital newsfeed, reading the same crap that all his townie mates are posting- probably links to the Daily Mail or some similar Tory rimming newspaper. He's totally fucking oblivious as to what's going to happen; and it's kind of exciting to know that. It makes this a more thrilling, rip-roaring execution. I can just imagine him later on, having a good old nag at his girlfriend because she's the only one he can think of to blame for some cunt stealing his wallet. Ha, ha, ha. The time has come now, and I, not even bothering to think about it, let myself fall to my left towards the guy and nudge the cunt hard. As a rather large splash of my ale splatters over his wool clad shoulder, the guy's face suddenly jerks forward towards the table in massive fucking surprise. He really didn't expect this to happen; this was never a foreseen event at the beginning of his day. It's at this galvanized moment that I quickly snatch his wallet. Although I do it a little too non-discreetly, I manage to slip it quickly into my left jacket pocket. I'm pretty sure that nobody saw me. I doubt that nobody fucking saw me; they're all sat at their tables, engaged in their own mediocre conversations and totally fucking uninterested in what is going on around them. As another splash of my drink splatters on the table, the bald bastard looks up at me, a combination of alarm and anger clearly discernible on his chubby little face, and shoves me back belligerently with his hands. It's a surprisingly weak shove for such a hefty looking bloke; almost pathetically amateurish really. 'Fucking clumsy prick. Look where you're going!' he says, his face going all red like a piping hot strawberry tart. 'Sorry mate, sorry,' I say, holding my hands out like a remorseful French geezer. 'Had too many today. Balance a bit fucked today mate. But I'm going now. I shall not be bothering you again mate.' 'Fuck off!' he says, gesturing with a violent nudge of his head, a thick trail of saliva dribbling down his lips. I'm still holding my hands out, letting him know that I've got the message, when I start moving backwards towards the pub's gate. 'I'm leaving mate, don't worry mate; I'm getting out of here now,' I say, getting closer to the gate. I can see that the geezer's attempting to brush the ale off his shoulder; he looks really fucking pissed off, as if he's enclosed in a thick, carmine tinged bubble of outrage. I take one last quick glug of the ale before putting the glass down on a table and walking through the gate. Moving hastily down the pavement, I take the wallet out of my pocket and smile with pure unadulterated devilishness. It's a particularly nice looking black wallet, one which looks made from fine crocodile skin, and I know I'll probably be able to get 20 quid just for it alone. Opening it up, I see a few credit cards, a driver's license with the bald geezer's fat, ugly mug on it, and a national insurance card. It's when I open up the wallet's inside compartment and see a wad of crisp blue notes that I really feel the desire to grin devilishly. There looks to be about 200 quid there in 20s, all neatly tucked together, and they look fucking magnificent I tell you, real glorious like. I take them out and start counting. Well, well, well, there is more than 200, there's fucking 250. It's at moments like these when happiness overpowers any sense of mild shame a person may be feeling. 'Cunt was probably planning on seeing a nice little brunette with that,' I think, the smug smirk still strong on my face. 'Another time mate, another time.' 'God I can get some good coke with this shit,' I think, my nostrils quivering at the sight of the milky blue notes (I almost actually admire the queen for a moment, the tofty fucked up old slag). 'Some good fucking shit.' I put the wallet back in my pocket and, taking out my shit Nokia mobile, head off leisurely down towards the cathedral. 'Corey mate, how are you? Have you got any more of that shit?' FILTH AND SMUT There's nothing better than sitting in front of your television at night with a pint of ale in your hand and the sight of some blonde bombshell riding a guy in some soft-core b-movie; and especially when the guy she's riding is presumably paying for her services. A prolonged, tantalizing sex scene, badly acted and simulated, but you don't care, because it reminds you of the times when these simulated, tacky sex scenes ruled your days of adolescence and wanking; remember late night Channel 5? I sit on my mouldy, but comfy, sofa with my beer belly bulging out of my t-shirt, and I perceive all these sexual images. Of course there's the tiresome effort of waiting for some sexual material to occur, but it's so frequent that you don't ever have to wait that long. I watch other shit besides these adult b-movies- Babestation's always on- but I really do prefer to watch some trashy soft-core filth instead. When I'm not watching all this filth and smut, I'm obtaining the cash, in any way I can, to see some dirty, fanciable whore. It sure is hard to find one that is preferable for your tastes. These days they're either stuck up cunts who charge way too much, or they look like they're riddled with infectious diseases. I'm usually very safe, and I like it when escorts are too. This one I usually stick to, Lauren, is as safe as a fucking pharmacy's medicine cabinet. She always uses extra safe Durexes, but don't let that put you off her because, let me tell you, she gives fantastic OWO, probably the best in the whole of East Anglia. She works the cock like she's sucking on some juicy vanilla flavored ice lolly. You could argue that OWO isn't safe, but I have to admit, if you're going to go for protection, then there's really no point in getting a blow, not a decent one anyway. It's the evening, and I'm at my mate Corey's place. While he's in the living room with some customer there to purchase some of his custom Ecstasy, I'm in his kitchen rooting through his fridge, rooting through all of his enticing alcohol and chemically processed food. I take out a bottle of Heineken and hastily pop the cap open with a bottle opener. The bubbly, opalescent froth spews out of the top at such speed that I have to tilt my head just to catch it in my mouth. It tastes chilled, sparkling, and refreshing, and as I take a few eager mouthfuls I head over to the lounge where Corey's giving it his all with his favourite fucking customer. 'This is great fucking shit; there's not a hope that you'll find this shit at this price anywhere else. £2,000 is a bargain mate, I'm fucking telling you,' says Corey as he sits on his sofa, emitting his sales talk patter on a bald, sweaty Chinese man in a grey t-shirt opposite him. As I stand there listening, sipping at my cold beer, I see that Corey's sat in the position he always sits in, his arms stretched out at their sides like a complacent emperor; and this place is obviously his own kind of palace... I guess. Continuing to listen, I lap up my beer like I'm catching glimpse of a fine looking Romanian escort with big tits and juicy cerise coloured lips. 'I have to say, this stuff you sell is better than the rest,' says the Chinese man. At the guy's complementary comment, I can see Corey's smug face turn even smugger. 'The smug cunt,' I say to myself, quietly. He knows he's got some of the best gear in this shithole of a city, and the cunt knows that he can fucking sell it. 'You're a favoured customer,' says Corey, placing a large brown parcel on the glass table. The Chinese fella takes it and places a bundle of cash in its place; it looks about 2 grand, maybe more. Corey just stares at the bundle. He doesn't open it; his eyes are just firmly fixed on it; I can practically see the £ signs in his eyes. 'As soon as you need some more of that, then I'll fucking fix you up with the finest,' he says, his sales talk stronger than ever. Unrushed, they both stand up and shake hands, while I stand there drinking my beer, watching as Corey escorts the Chinese geezer out of the house. He's a short fella, the Chinese guy, borderline dwarf, and I can just imagine him high as fuck on the dancefloor, groping some norfolk slut's arse with oriental gusto. The front door shuts, and I follow my sly, sneaky friend with my eyes as he walks on back into the lounge. 'Who is the man? Who is the man who talks the talk,' he says to me as I watch him enviously while swigging on my beer. 'Smug cunt,' I'm thinking. 'Smug fucking CUNT.' 'I just sold 2 grand's worth of gear, and he'll be coming back in no time,' Corey says, walking up to me with a thick, flexible wad of notes in his hand. He stands in front of me and flicks his fingers through the bundle. Then, taking out about £300 he looks at me, his eyes peering at me almost apprehensively. 'Now, this is some cash that your generous fucking mate's giving you. Spend it wisely. And try not to spend it all on booze and escorts ay? They're the two biggest killers.' I look at the cash, and it's like I'm looking at some porn star's tight, exquisitely waxed cunt. Fuck me that cash looks great. I hold my arms out, and as I put my hand on the bunch of notes, Corey grips his hand tightly around my wrist. 'Spend it wisely, ay? Caus I ain't gonna keep helping you out willy nilly, you got me?' I look up at his eyes, compliantly. 'Bruv man, I always spend it wisely.' Cut to the sex scene. I treat myself to a nice Russian happy-in-life hooker for £100, and as I fuck her adeptly on all fours I laugh at those words my good friend said to me, 'Spend it wisely.' 'Ha, spend it wisely, I am spending it wisely,' I say, staring at the Russian bird's soft black hair. I pull it, and she starts moaning intensely just to please me. I can feel the flesh on her hips bounce against my slight beer belly, its soft, malleable surface quivering like a convulsive river. 'Oh yea, moan for me baby. Fucking moan for me,' I say as she raises her head up in the air. The bed bounces and bounces, and I feel myself on the verge of sexual climax. I almost wish I wasn't wearing a rubber johnny so that I could shoot a hot load of my fruitful cum right up her tight arsehole, but fuck it, gotta be safe. Pulling the prostitute up against me, I feel the hot cum gush back against the top of my latex concealed penis with violent, roaring intensity and enjoy, with full appreciation, the 12 second trip through fuck paradise. 'What a feeling,' I'm thinking, the orgasmic exhilaration at its culmination; 'this is so fucking carnal.' Soon the orgasm plummets to an end, and both I and the prostitute collapse down onto the bed in fatigue. As we both pant, mine more legitimate, I can't help but notice how much of a beast I am in comparison to her. I mean this beautiful Russian goddess lying here with her perfect face, her perfect arsehole; and then there's me, this beast with a hairy pot belly. Fuck, she must think I'm horrific or something. I can certainly tell that she's done porn; I mean her acting skills were fucking impeccable throughout the session. I'm feeling a little bit bad about myself as I get up off the bed; however, I soon feel better when I think of all the Newcastle Browns I can buy with the cash that my good old pal Corey so generously gave to me. 'Fuck man, I'm gonna get so shitfaced tonight,' I think. It's later, and I stop by Tesco to stock up on Newcastle Browns. I go a little crazy and get myself some gin too. Why not ay? Why the fuck not? I put the abundance of bottles in a basket; go to the counter to get served by a fat lady; and then head home, loving the wavering sounds of the bottles clanging together inside the bag; only Newcastle Brown clangs like that, ONLY NEWCASTLE FUCKING BROWN. With fantasies of gin and ale, I walk back home intent on getting shitfaced. 'Man I'm going to get shitfaced!!' I excitedly shout out loud. Then I think of earlier, roughly an hour ago. 'Pretty good blow job; some skilful lips.' What can I say, I got shitfaced. I wake up in my flat. The place is cluttered with empty Newcastle Brown bottles, and I think for a brief moment that I've been brought back from the dead. I feel fucked but good at the same time. I don't have that banging, nauseous headache or anything; the only roughness I feel is a little weariness and some minor dehydration. In fact, I think I got off pretty lightly. I tell you, waking up with a hangover this easy and mild isn't great if you want to curb your alcohol consumption; it only makes you want alcohol even more; and the massive fucking trouble now is that I want to go and get shitfaced again! I soon find myself at the counter of my local Indian shop with several bottles of Becks. Never been a fan of the stuff, but these are 600 ml bottles, and it's the only decent stuff they have in this shite little store. I'm pissed at how much these Indian cunts are charging for the beer- nearly £4 a bottle- and I can't help but look at the Indian fella of a clerk with mild racial discrimination. 'Comin' over here, stealin' our jobs,' I think, humorously. Haha, what have I become? Some Daily Mail reader? Lol. I get out of the shop, pissed off about the dirty look that the Indian fella gave me, but feel happy that I am, very shortly, going to be getting pissed lager style. Immediately, as soon as I've opened my front door, I'm popping the lids off all seven bottles and getting them down me throat. I fucking love it; the feeling of pure inebriation - what a great feeling! I put on my favourite U2 album and proceed to get fucking shitfaced! Wayhaaay!! LACE As I walk up the black carpeted stairs of Lace gentleman club, gazing up at the far wall that glows red from the lights above, I feel the buzz of the moment. I haven't had any coke or anything, but I definitely feel charged and ready for some sluttish Essex girl to rub her tits and cunt in my face. I can hear the music from upstairs and feel mildly nervous from the excitement of what could happen within the next 20 minutes or so; am I going to get a beautiful, lavish blonde girl, or am I going to get a dark, sophisticated brunette with olive skin. Who knows? I get up the final step and walk over to the counter to pay the £10 fee. Although I've been here quite a few times before, the ambience of the place seems mildly mysterious, and the smell of women's perfume lingering in the air seems more potent than ever. A thin woman with purple glossy lips and black, tied-back hair walks over to me from behind the counter and gives me a half, unenthusiastic smile. I can tell right away that she's not one of the dancers from that simple look of aloofness present on her face. If she was a dancer, it would be extremely unprofessional for her to display even the slightest look of detachment.