time till something came along which I wouldn’t feel the need to ask myself questions about? Whatever, it felt nice – it had the relaxed quality of an old relationship and the excitement of a new one. In fact, all it lacked was plain, simple MAGIC.
Asif was beautiful – more beautiful than Kim. He was also, if you want to get smutty about it, better equipped sex-wise – I mean, she had those tiny little hands, like a kiddy’s! But I don’t know – I didn’t get that kick-in-the-stomach thing from him. Don’t get me wrong; if anyone’s going to be kicking someone in the stomach, or anywhere for that matter, it’s generally going to be yours truly. But in my experience, it IS a tremendous thrill, in a weird kind of way, when finally you’re NOT in control, when you’re used to being the one on top.
For instance, I knew that Kimmy was nowhere near as tough as me – the way she used to look UP to me was actually quite sad – but there was something about her that made me so horny I actually felt helpless. Even watching the uptight little cow test the smoke alarms at Sweet Towers, holding the chair steady and looking up her skirt – the nearest I’D ever get, or the only reason I’d ever WANT to put anyone on a pedestal, ha ha! – made me feel weak with longing sometimes. It was like the physical pain you get from laughing hard at school, that agonizing ecstasy that just goes when you grow up. This is going to sound well mental, but perhaps the reason we’re all so desperate to fall in love is BECAUSE, not in spite of, the fact that it makes us feel helpless again, like being a little kid – and if you’re having to be tough all the time, well, that’s some sort of freedom.
I’d felt like a kid a lot of the time when I was with Kim – you could say, ‘Yeah, Shugs, but you WERE only fifteen!’ – but believe me, if you knew me better then you’d know that I hadn’t been a child since I was twelve. Yet somehow with her I got it back – even though we were meant to have ‘corrupted’ each other or something, which was why her parents whisked her away like that. It was like sex with her wiped out all the too-much-too-young stuff.
I didn’t feel like a kid with Asif though. I felt that every time I had sex with him, I absorbed a bit of all that terrible stuff he’d been through. Kim had had an easy life, and it rubbed off on me; Asif had had a rotten time, and so did that. And I had enough baggage of my own to cart around, let’s face it, without prancing up to all and sundry and squealing, ‘Hi! My name is Maria and I will be your bag carrier for the night!’
That was the theory – the practice, though, was Those Eyes and That Mouth, and they’d do until plain old Magic came along again. So I shared his pain and my sandwiches, and sang his hymns, and rubbed his back when he’d start crying about what his lot had to put up with in Pakistan. We were in it together, the way I looked at it, and we might as well do our best to help each other through, especially sex-wise. The way I see it, and the way Asif might have put it if he’d been a dirty-minded blasphemer, horizontal is the good Lord’s apology for vertical.
Nevertheless, as I waited in the rain for the bus to Stanwick that night, I was starting to regret my decision to kick the horsey habit. Facing another eight hours of wasting my brains and beauty in that place without actually being wasted didn’t seem a whole lot of fun. For about a minute after redecorating Ag and Bag’s place, I’d been buzzing with what I’d taken to have been a natural high – but, as with every high, natural or chemical, you’ve gotta pay for it with the comedown, and mine had kicked in without so much as an eighth to ease the pain.
I’d got my revenge on the paedo pair – but where did that leave me exactly? I wasn’t going to get my chance any time soon to make the pages of the Argus as high-fashion’s latest must-have muse, that was for sure!
Asif was beautiful – more beautiful than Kim. He was also, if you want to get smutty about it, better equipped sex-wise – I mean, she had those tiny little hands, like a kiddy’s! But I don’t know – I didn’t get that kick-in-the-stomach thing from him. Don’t get me wrong; if anyone’s going to be kicking someone in the stomach, or anywhere for that matter, it’s generally going to be yours truly. But in my experience, it IS a tremendous thrill, in a weird kind of way, when finally you’re NOT in control, when you’re used to being the one on top.
For instance, I knew that Kimmy was nowhere near as tough as me – the way she used to look UP to me was actually quite sad – but there was something about her that made me so horny I actually felt helpless. Even watching the uptight little cow test the smoke alarms at Sweet Towers, holding the chair steady and looking up her skirt – the nearest I’D ever get, or the only reason I’d ever WANT to put anyone on a pedestal, ha ha! – made me feel weak with longing sometimes. It was like the physical pain you get from laughing hard at school, that agonizing ecstasy that just goes when you grow up. This is going to sound well mental, but perhaps the reason we’re all so desperate to fall in love is BECAUSE, not in spite of, the fact that it makes us feel helpless again, like being a little kid – and if you’re having to be tough all the time, well, that’s some sort of freedom.
I’d felt like a kid a lot of the time when I was with Kim – you could say, ‘Yeah, Shugs, but you WERE only fifteen!’ – but believe me, if you knew me better then you’d know that I hadn’t been a child since I was twelve. Yet somehow with her I got it back – even though we were meant to have ‘corrupted’ each other or something, which was why her parents whisked her away like that. It was like sex with her wiped out all the too-much-too-young stuff.
I didn’t feel like a kid with Asif though. I felt that every time I had sex with him, I absorbed a bit of all that terrible stuff he’d been through. Kim had had an easy life, and it rubbed off on me; Asif had had a rotten time, and so did that. And I had enough baggage of my own to cart around, let’s face it, without prancing up to all and sundry and squealing, ‘Hi! My name is Maria and I will be your bag carrier for the night!’
That was the theory – the practice, though, was Those Eyes and That Mouth, and they’d do until plain old Magic came along again. So I shared his pain and my sandwiches, and sang his hymns, and rubbed his back when he’d start crying about what his lot had to put up with in Pakistan. We were in it together, the way I looked at it, and we might as well do our best to help each other through, especially sex-wise. The way I see it, and the way Asif might have put it if he’d been a dirty-minded blasphemer, horizontal is the good Lord’s apology for vertical.
Nevertheless, as I waited in the rain for the bus to Stanwick that night, I was starting to regret my decision to kick the horsey habit. Facing another eight hours of wasting my brains and beauty in that place without actually being wasted didn’t seem a whole lot of fun. For about a minute after redecorating Ag and Bag’s place, I’d been buzzing with what I’d taken to have been a natural high – but, as with every high, natural or chemical, you’ve gotta pay for it with the comedown, and mine had kicked in without so much as an eighth to ease the pain.
I’d got my revenge on the paedo pair – but where did that leave me exactly? I wasn’t going to get my chance any time soon to make the pages of the Argus as high-fashion’s latest must-have muse, that was for sure!
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