11 posts tagged “shag”

Ten cent whore. Ten cent whore!
What a prick. I've only ever shagged someone for money one time in college... Well, when I stayed with my friend who went to college. I never actually went... I needed money for a cab and this guy I met on campus offered me a hundred quid for a go in his car.
It seemed so weird though... He seemed a bit old to be a college student. Apparently the college professor look is in with students too.
Wait...

Anyway, I'm so glad that Bert is not the father of my child... because now I hate the sodding trannie. Can't believe his entire act was spent making fun of Elle and I. (And he did my model walk all wrong.) Elle gave him a good beating with the broom the next morning but I'm still angry with him anyway.

Something's going on over at Black Books. While Elle was sleeping at her desk his afternoon, I popped over there for a few minutes- the place, I tell you, was packed! There were customers sitting at tables, drinking coffee and eating snacks while reading their books. Classical music was playing from somewhere. Bernard had a name tag ("Bern", it said) on his lapel- and did not looked pleased, per usual. Somebody was literally being eaten by a bright green sofa nearby. Manny, looking proud as a peach, was standing at a podium, his chest hair in full view. It was a bit gross, to be honest.

A short girl in a denim jacket was standing by the door, reading a thick book about Henry VIII. She smiled as me when I came in and went back to her book. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're in my way," I said. Why is a 12-year-old in a book shop and not in school anyway?
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in an American accent.
"Pfft," I said. "Americans."
"Actually I'm Canadian," she said in a mousy little voice. "I'm from Nova Scotia."
I just blinked at her. "I don't care." Actually, I don't even know where that is...

I walked over to Manny's podium. His proud smile faltered a little bit when I approached. I guess he was still a bit upset over the him-being-in-love-with-me-but-me-not-feeling-that-way-in-the-least thing that happened ages ago.
Honestly. People need to grow up.

"What is going on here?" I asked.
"We're improving the shop," Manny exclaimed. "Competing with the big chain stores."
Bernard strolled over, his hands in his pockets. "This whole ting is crap, Manny. It's a waste of time."
Manny crossed his arms over his (ape-like) chest. "We've tripled our weekly profits in just one day. This is good for business!"
"Profits shmofits," Bernard said. He looked at me. "And what are you doing in here?!"
"I thought I'd come over," I glanced at Manny, "for a book... and a cup of coffee."
Manny beamed at this.
"You work at a book shop. Why would you come here for a book? That's-that's dumb!" Bernard seemed really irritated by this.
"Your shop has an ambience that Whyte Books doesn't have." I smiled cutely up at him.
Bernard snarled at me and stormed out of the store. I looked back at Manny.
"The shop looks nice, Manny." I batted my eyelashes at him. "Good work."
His entire face went red.

I winced painfully into the hot sun, shielding my eyes with my hand. I was wearing my new designer sunglasses (that I stole from Tom's place- his man-girlfriend must have left them there) and a tennis frock that matched Bert and Elle's. Bert was wearing a wig and Elle hadn't even brushed her hair that day.

The only reason I was okay with this whole dressing-alike-in-public thing was because I knew I looked the best of the three of us... Although, I had to admit that Bert's legs were probably nicer and more feminine-looking than my own.

Especially in two-inch heels.

He was going to go with the five-inch but I reminded him that we were playing tennis this afternoon, not tarting around for sex partners. Only then does one wear ridiculously uncomfortable shoes.

Elle had been busy doing something with the sewing machine that morning. I didn't even know she could sew. Turns out, she'd sewn a little pocket into her tennis outfit- just big enough for her flask to fit into.

I rolled my eyes at her and looked at Bert. He sweating like a kettle but seemed quite excited to start.

"Why couldn't you have signed us up for swimming...? Or diving?" I asked Bert.

"Oh, get over it," he said with a shrug. "Tennis is fun! It'll be great! ...As soon as our instructor gets here, we're good to go... Oh, I think that's him now."

I looked over my shoulder... only to see A God In Tennis Shoes walking towards us. My mouth dropped open a little and my breathing stopped and my heart was pounding and knees were weak and my pupils were dialated- all of those reactions a body makes when one wants something. Or, in this case, someone.

Leo

His name was Leo. And he was magnificent.

I spent the afternoon trying to impress him with my skills, all the while flirting with him, pushing my chest out and trying to make myself look better in my frock than Bert. Making myself look seductive, cute and attractive has always been easy for me. But Bert and Elle were not making it easy for me. Elle even stuck her foot out and made me trip once! JEEZE!!

Thankfully, Leo was there to help me up. And by the way he looked at me as I brushed asphalt off my knees, I knew he wanted me too.

Really. Men are so easy to read.

Maybe it was the tennis court. Maybe it was his rippling muscles. Maybe it was the intense heat. I don't know. But if Elle and Bert weren't standing right there, I could've tackled him right then and there. With my thighs, that is.

After our tennis lesson, Bert was quite happy with his improvement and Elle's flask was empty. I told them to wait for me while I used the loo.

I found Leo by some vending machines, downing a bottle of water. Sweat was trickling down his forhead, arms and neck. It made my toes curl just looking at him.

I pretended to be looking at the water bottle machine. "So. What should I get? ...Water, water or... water?" I smiled up at him.

He grinned. "They also have water-flavored water," he said. "It's got a nice, rich... water flavor to it."

I laughed loudly, like all women do when a man they are attracted to makes a lame joke. They always laugh louder than what is necessary. Must be one of those human nature things- like batting your eyelashes or rifling through a man's wallet while he's asleep.

 He took a step closer to me. "Do you have some place you're supposed to be this afternoon?"

"Yes, actually," I said. "Your flat."

 Okay. So, I didn't get to tell Bert and Elle that I wasn't going home with them. I'm sure it was fine. I'm sure they didn't wait that long for me anyway. Leo signed out early, said he was feeling unwell, and we drove to his gorgeous flat outside of Notting Hill. (It's always nice to go home with someone and then find out they have loads of cash. It's comforting.) On the drive to his flat, he told me that his parents wanted him to become a barrister but he enjoyed tennis far too much to finish law school. Turns out he's on the brink of turning pro. He only coaches as a hobby.

That's right. He works as a hobby. He plays tennis as a career. 

If there's a better way to get a woman to strip all her clothes off and shag you seven times, all in different places (and positions) in your apartment, I don't know what is.

And guess what. Leo wants to see me again. He wants to take me out on an actual date.

Could life be any better? I think not.

While Elle (who was quite pissed about the me-and-Theo thing... and the fact that her gorgy boyfriend just CAME OUT) and Bert (who was being quite nice about the whole me-being-preggers things... and the it-might-be-Tom's-or-Bert's thing) waited in the kitchen, I squatted awkwardly with the pregnancy test between my legs, yet again. This time, my bladder was full, as I'd just downed two litres of orange juice.

Never thought orange juice would be so awful to drink without vodka in it...

I leaned against the bathroom wall while the plastic, pee-covered stick did whatever it is that pregnancy tests do. I was reminded of that American movie with the teenage girl who got pregnant after having sex just once.

Poor thing. Can't believe she didn't win the Oscar for that movie.

After two and a half minutes, I slowly approached the counter and looked down at the stick. One blue stripe stared back at me, mocking me. I immediately burst into tears.

Elle peered in. "So?!"

"I'VE GOT A BLUE STRRI-I-IIIIPE!!!" I wailed. I sunk down to the floor and sobbed into the top of my knees. "This can't be happening!! I'm not ready to be a mum! I've got my whole life ahead of me!! What am I going to do?!?"

Bert pushed the door open and saw me on the floor. He frowned. "What if we got married?"

I stared at him, my vision blurry from the tears. "Wot?"

"Elle said that Tom wouldn't be..." He hesitated. "...the good dad. And who knows, it's quite possible that it's mine, you know." He shrugged. "I mean, we did shag..." He swallowed, a shadow of fear passing quickly over his face. "What if... I married... you?"

I almost considered it. Good GOD, I almost considered it.

Elle plucked the pregger-ancy test from the garbage and read the back. "Two blue stripes means you're pregnant. One stripe means you're not." She looked down at me. "Stop crying. No need to marry Bert this time."

I have never been so relieved over anything in my life. I just looked at Bert and smiled. "Let's not shag again, alright?"

Bert grinned. I think he was more relieved than I was. "Agreed."

I celebrated that evening by getting pissed at the pub with Elle, Bert, Manny, Fran and Bernard. Elle, fresh from her recent break-up, was back to being uncomfortably chummy with Bernard. I was happy to see Manny flirting with the waitress (who seemed quite uninterested and repulsed by his drunken advances). I've been told a few times that it can be quite hard to get over me, but I was glad to see that he was on his way.

Bert was still feeling a little awkward about what had happened earlier and he made an early exit. He said something about going to some comedy thing later and meeting some friends.

As for Fran, she was pissed before we even got to the pub. She ended up snoring away, her head down on the table for most of the evening.

I called Tom from the pub. I told him about my pregnancy scare and told him that there was no baby in sight. He picked me up in his car and we had a celebratory shag in the back seat.

Life without a bun in the oven is quite nice, really.  

I'm home! Home, at last!

...That reminds me. Why the bugger did I come home? Nobody 'round here thinks I'm fabulous 'er anythin'. 'Cept for Manny, of course. But from what Bert has told me, Elle took care of that mess quite rightly.

Right now, she's off with some Theo guy. Knowing her, she made the bloke up. Elle doesn't bloody go on dates. She sits with Bert, drinks, says mean things and reads... all the whole pretending she doesn't have a ting for Bernard Black. Oh, I know she does. She's practically the female version of that Irish coot. What could she possibly see in him- besides herself? Now, I'm sure there is some Froydian explaination for her attraction- but I'm too lazy to look it up.

Anyway, Machester was fab. When I wasn't drinking and dancing in all the gay clubs in the city, I was busy grooving with some fab footie players. I am not ashamed to say that I didn't shag the same person twice.

Ah, Manchester. Where a person's dreams can really come true.

Oh, and another thing: I couldn't help but notice that all my clothes are a little stretched out. I knew I should have taken everything with me. It's bad enough Bert uses my makeup all the time. Now my skirts don't even fit me!

Elle is in a rather funny mood. Apparently this Theo chap is quite attractive. But her mood turned sour as soon as I brought up the whole Manny thing.

"You are going back to SAA meetings!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger in my face.

"But I-I-I-I'm fine! Really! I can control myself!" I snapped. "I don't have an addiction anymore!"

"That's a lie," Elle stated, matter-of-factly. "Name the last 3 guys you shagged in Manchester."

"Fine," I said. "The last guy was named Mike Watt. He's an arms expert and is trying to join the army."

"That's one." Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Two more."

"And the guy before Mike was... er... uh..."

"Right," Elle snapped. "Monday afternoon. You. SAA meeting- or I'll tell Manny what you had me do."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, sister," she said, flatly. "I would." 

Tom came by, a few minutes after Elle left on her "date" and Bert left for... something. I'm not even sure where he went. Tom explained to me that he had accidently grabbed Elle's ass the other day, thinking it was me. He still doesn't seem to understand that I'm very annoyed with him.

To make my point as clear as possible, I didn't even kiss him as we shagged on top of Elle's desk.

"I have a surprise for you, dear sister!" Elle exclaimed, grabbing my arm and taking me to the back of the shop. "Look!"

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you drunk?"

Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Do I... look drunk to you, dear sister?"

I blinked. "Yes."

Elle shook her head. "Never mind that." She pointed at a small door that had previously been hidden behind a load of books that she was too lazy to clean up until recently.

I looked at her. "Bravo Elle. It's a broom closet. You should be given an award for your great achievement. Do you happen to know if they give out Nobel Prizes for finding broom closets?"

Elle glared at me. "This is no ordinary broom closet."

Hobbit_door

"You're right," I said. "It looks like a hobbit hole."

Elle's mouth twisted in thought. "It really does, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Yup. Anyway, unless there's any other broom closets you'd like to waste my time with, I'm going out."

I left out the part about where I would be heading off to- Tom's flat. He and I had been shagging like rabbits ever since having lunch together the week before. And best of all, neither of us had a significant other to worry about walking in on us... Although, we still were pretending that we could get caught, just to add to the excitement. Since then, we've done it on every appliance and piece of furniture in his flat- including the kitchen sink (which was a bit uncomfortable, I have to say). Tom and I had decided to keep things between us... informal. We'd dated before and it hadn't worked out, so keeping it unofficial (and, therefore, without boundaries) was best. Boundaries are for boring, married couples. And boring, married couples surely do not do some of the things we had already done.

"No, no, no!" Elle said, not getting go of my arm. She whipped the broom closet door open. Inside was a fair-sized room with a door on the other end. "You won't have to sleep on the sofa anymore! You've got your own bedroom now!"

I stared at her. Had she honestly not even noticed that I hadn't actually slept on that sofa for over a week? Was Elle seriously that blind and daft? Apparently.

I ducked my head down and followed Elle into the hobbit door. The walls were papered with pages from Big Fat Cocks. I pointed to one of the pages. "Hey! I think I've read that article!"

Elle glanced at me, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed awkwardly. "Er... Just kidding! Of course, I've never read that article... or had a subscription to that magazine..." I rolled my eyes. I pointed to the door at the other side of the room. "Where does that lead to?"

Elle's face lit up like a child's at Christmas. "The wine cellar of the restaurant next door." She squeezed past me and opened the door, revealing shelves and shelves of wine- most of which was probably much better than the cheap rubbish she puts in her gob.

I sat down on the purple velvet couch and looked around my new room. "I like it." I nodded in approval. "I'll have to do some redecorating-" Liar. "-but generally, I like it."

"Fab! Fabbity fab fab!" Elle said, falling into one of the dusty bean bag chairs, leading me to believe that she had already gotten into the stolen wine. "Now you can get your stuff out of boxes and out of the hall."

Later on that day, I took two bottles wine from the wine cellar and went to Tom's. And then we shagged. Nine times.

And it was fab. Fabbity fab fab!

When Bert and I got back from France, it was New Year's Eve. He slept most of the way home on the plane- but I could barely close my eyes, let alone drift off to Dream Land.

There was no point in denying it. Bernard and Elle were shagging. Or, at least they had shagged. At least once.

I cringed at the thought. I mean, really. Ew.

So, when we got home to the shop, I just wanted to get Elle alone and ask her if the bloody thing was true or not. God, I hoped it wasn't... especially after I'd gone and told Bert that Elle fancied him. Yeesh.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Bernard had really only just slept at the shop. Highly unlikely- but I imagined Bernard and Elle were probably brilliant drinkers together and ended up pissed and he just crashed at the shop. With her.

Ew, ew, ew!! No, no!! Bad brain, bad!!

Before I could talk to Elle, Bert suggested we all go down to the pub for a New Year's Eve drink. So, the lot of us (Elle, Bert, Bernard, Fran, Manny and I) all went down to the pub and started drinking.

And drank some more. And laughed for a bit.

And continued drinking.

Well, my suspicions were confirmed, more or less. Not by Elle, but by Bernard.

He had his arm draped around Elle's shoulders and, despite the amount of vodka in her blood stream, she still looked uncomfortable with the public display of affection.

Bernard nuzzled her ear and announced to the whole pub, "This is Elle and she is... reeeeeeally lovely!!" His head then slammed onto the table as he passed out.

Bert, oddly enough, didn't seem too bothered by the fact that his woman was being nuzzled by somebody else and, of all people, Bernard Black. He was too busy flirting with Fran! And she seemed quite keen on him as well. She didn't even mind the wig, makeup and Marilyn Monroe-style dress.

So. That left Manny and me.

Manny smiled at me awkwardly as we clinked our shot glasses together and downed some tequila. Manny started getting handsy under the table, the more liquor we ingested. And since I was absolutely pissed and he was being so sweet, I didn't even bother removing his hands from underneath my skirt.

"...Elise?"

My eyes flashed open- and my head was suddenly struck with the worst hangover headache the world has ever known. I looked up to see Manny.

...Standing beside the bed in which I was laying. He'd brought me breakfast on a tray. And a newspaper. And a rose in a slender glass vase.

"Well," I said, sliding up in (his) bed, "Happy New Year to you, Manny."

On behalf of Elle, Bert and the whole gang, Happy Holidays!!

When we last left off, Bert The Tranny had his tongue down my throat. Despite all the liquor we'd consumed over the past several hours, his breath still tasted a bit minty... Was there a mint-flavored drink in the cabinet that I had missed out on?

Elise. Focus. What are you DOING?!

Snogging a fab-looking man... who happens to enjoy wearing women's clothing, that's what I'm doing.

Slut! You know very well that Elle fancies the pants off of him! Stop what you are doing right now!!

I don't know anything about that!

Okay, wow. Tranny Man's hand is heading south of the border.

"Bert," I said, tearing my lips away from his.

"Wha?" His head wobbled with drunkenness.

"We're both pissed. Let's not do this. Let's just... be friends." I put my head on his shoulder. "Alright?"

Bert shrugged. "Dat's fine, luff. Just thought... as we're in France 'n all. But if y'don't want to, me won't."

Elise. Do you realize what just happened?

No. What's that?

Your just turned down a shag.

Oh my God. I did do that. I did, I did!!

Good girl.

While Bert passed out on the bed, I hobbled down to the hotel bar and ended up going back to the room of a traveling businessman named... Oh, shit. What was his name again? Bob? Darren? Kurt? Jonathan? Well, whatever his name was, he was rubbish. Kept calling me "Sharon". And then he cried at the end, which is never attractive.

When I woke up in the morning beside What's-His-Face, I grabbed my clothes off the floor and slipped down the hall to my hotel room. Bert was in the shower. I tried to call Elle on the room's phone but there was no answer. Where could Elle possibly be?

I am not proud of the fact that I have had lots of experience slipping out of a stranger's flat unnoticed. Not just because I, well, enjoy an anonymous shag- because, seriously, who doesn't?- but because I spent some time during my teen years breaking into peoples' homes. I would never steal anything- because stealing is morally wrong and just plain tacky. I just liked picking the lock or breaking in through a window and then leaving. Elle always made fun of me for it... but no matter.

As I slipped out of the front door, I could hear Jim (...or was it Tim? Oh, God. I don't even remember.) and his wife (!!!!) watching TV around the corner and chatting. Oh, no. Why do men do this to me? Why?!

In the hall outside of their flat, I was almost run over by an angry teenage girl. She rushed past me and flew out the door, her mother (I assume) was screaming from the upstairs flat... She founded a lot like Elle, actually. And then I saw her with a glass of red wine in hand. Ah, well. That explains it.

I turned around to make my way down the stairs but didn't make it very far. A tall, creepy man- who happened to be wearing an open robe and nothing else- was staring at me from the stairs.

"Sir, your robe seems to be open," I said, averting my eyes.

Great. I'm making my escape from Jim's flat, only to run into some pervert rapist. Could this day get any better?

The door behind me whipped open and Jim and His Wife were gawking at me from inside.

Jim smiled shyly. "Morning Elise. Hope we didn't wake you up."

His Wife shrugged. "I think I did, actually. I was looking for you and she was there." She looked at me. "Sorry 'bout that, love."

Jim nodded. "No, I went out for a Cornetto this morning with Mike." 

I didn't know what to say. What could I say in this position?

"Uhhhh," I started. "I'm sorry, Jim-"

"It's Tim, actually."

Shit.

"Tim." I smiled. "Right." I smiled weakly at His Wife. "I'm really so sorry. I had no idea Jim, er, Tim was married. I wouldn't have shagged him if I had known. So, I'm so, so, so sorry and you'll never, ever see me again... Sorry." I started back down the stairs.

"His wife?" His Wife exclaimed. "I'm not his wife!" She lowered her voice and glanced upstairs to the drunk woman's flat. "We're not even dating. We're just pretending to be together so we could have the flat."

I blinked at her. "Oh."

"And I'm Daisy, by the way," she said.

I nodded. "Well. Um. That's a relief. Thought I'd gone and shagged a married man. Again."

Jim- er, Tim- and Daisy chuckled awkwardly.

Then the three of us noticed that Creepy Pervert Rapist was still standing there. With his robe still open.

Tim winced. "And that's Brian. He's an artist."

"Oh. Brilliant," I said. "What kind of stuff do you do?"

Brain's eyes moved to the left as he considered his answer. "Anger... Pain... Fear... Aggression." 

I blinked at him. "...Watercolors?"

I've set a new world record: Two evictions in two days.

As it would turn out, Bernard didn't know a thing about me staying there. I knew it. I blood well knew it.

Elle tore herself away from her new fancy tranny man long enough to suggest that I stay with Mom and Dad.

I smiled sweetly and told her that I'd rather rip my toe nails out. Or, rather, her toe nails. She just laughed. Great. Flirting with a transvestite, drinking at half ten in the morning and chain smoking in the shop. She calls me a tramp and a tart and everything - but she is less than a classy woman, honestly.

Well, whatever. I can't stay at the shop because Tranny Man is in my room. That's right- my room! I can't stay at Black Books because Bernard refused to let me stay. Plus, he scares me. Anyway, nobody from that crowd is around. Manny and Bernard are house-sitting while some creep in a powder blue suit cleans the shop for them. Fran is on a date with that lovely bloke- Ben, I think she said his name was.

And I'm still homeless.

Elle ordered me to stop moping about not having a home. She made me a deal: I could sleep on the shop sofa for the night if I put in some hours at the shop. Having no other choice, I agreed.

At least I have a bed to sleep in tonight. Well, not so much a bed as an old worn-out, mouth-eaten couch that still has the stain from where Auntie Madge pissed. I missed my dear old auntie, weak bladder and all.

Earlier this afternoon, Tranny Man (also called "Bert", apparently- possibly short for "Bertha"?) tried to be all nice and apologize for the mix-up. On closer inspection, he really is quite fit and nice-looking. No wonder Elle wants to shag him. 

Thank God Elle felt bad for me. With her blessing (and my promise to attend a SAA meeting tomorrow), I went back to bed, a bottle of very cheap wine under my arm. It had been quite a long time since Elle had sympathized with me. The last time she had shown any sort of understanding towards me was when...

Well, I can't actually remember when that was. But that just proves my point. It's like she's got a sodding gherkin thrust up her backside 24/7. It's such an unattractive quality. The poor girl just needs a good shag (or 12). Maybe she and that guy across the street can get stinking drunk and give it a go.

Oh dear Jesus. Horrible image in my head.

Elle came upstairs about an hour later. I had been busy staring at the wall with a wine bottle in hand when she found me.

"Elise? I need to go out for a minute," she said slowly, as if I had a learning disability or something. "Can you go downstairs? Tend the shop. You don't have to do anything, just make sure nobody comes in and steals anything, alright?"

I grunted in agreement and she helped me down the stairs. They seriously seemed like they'd become steeper and smaller since earlier that morning.

With Elle gone and the shop in my more-than-capable hands, I sat at the desk at the back of the store and looked around. I rang up Tom's bitch lovely girlfriend and left a little message on their machine.

"Hello Trish, it's Elise. Just thought I'd call and thank Tom for last night's shag-athon. Anyway, byeeeeeeee."

Ha. Ha! Hahahahahahaha. Ha. If I have to be miserable, than so shall they. HA!

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It was then that Klingon Guy came into the store, his small dark eyes scanning the book shelves. He smiled politely at me and came over to the desk. He spotted the near-empty bottle of wine on the desk and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Oh, God. Not another one," he said quietly.

Ah! It speaks English!

"Wot?!" I said, grabbing the bottle and taking another swig. I was depressed. Recently dumped. Living with my sister. I was more than deserving to be completely smashed.

"Nothing," he said. "Are you Elle Whyte?"

"God no!" I snorted with laughter. "I'm 'er sister, Elise. Who a'you?"

"Well, I'm Manny. I work with Bernard at Black Books." He shrugged. "Well, I hope to anyway. It's my first day. I'm on my lunch break right now but I thought I'd pop in and-"

I blinked at him. "That is a fascinatin' story, Mister Klingon. You should, like, save it and tell i' a' par'ies or summing. Yeah?"

Manny wrinkled his nose and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I-"

"My God," I said. "You really are the strangest-looking person I've ever met. Tell me, does fungus grow on you?"

"No!"

I snorted. "Shame. You could be in, like, a text book or summing." I took another swig. "You men. What is your problem anyway?" I finished off the bottle. "Bastards."

"Well, you're obviously not in the mood to chat, so I'll just be going."

"Yeah!" I yelled after him. "Go! Get on then!"

Before he could leave, Elle showed up at the door... and right behind her was Trish, looking about ready to commit murder.