Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
The first time I saw his face, I remember it, so soulful, large coffee dark liquid eyes, full lips, crooked, inquisitive eyebrows. A camera in his hand, he asked if he could take my picture. He had a nice face, an English accent, an expensive vintage camera, so I said “Yeah, sure, why not?”
Flattered, I struck a campy pose and flicked my hair from my shoulder. I asked him, when he was done, “Why did you want to take my photo? Are you an artist? A model scout? A photo journalist?” He grinned and said he liked my style, particularly my beanie. I snatched the beanie off my head, embarrassed that I had forgotten it and was out in public. My 4 year old nephew had put his Buzz Lightyear beanie on me to keep my head warm when I was leaving the house earlier in the day.
What took you so long? He demanded as I busted through the door and fell onto the kitchen floor
These shoes are shit.. Fucken platforms.
I was getting pissed with Woody. How long have I been? Did I miss something?
You said you would be home in an hour , two tops, you said. I made dinner, you said you’d be home to eat. Why didn’t you answer your phone?
Because , like I told you, we had a meeting I can’t answer my phone in meetings. It’s fucken rude.
You just said you were getting pissed with Woody
I was
Where is Woody now?
I don’t fucken know, I haven’t seen him in ages.
*sigh* I was worried sick. This can’t keep happening. You were gone for three whole days.
My feet are freezing, the seat’s stuck to my bum. My breath thinks that it’s smoking and the bus will never come.I wish I’d kept my licence, I wish I’d not been bad. I wish I’d never drunk so much, more than I’ve ever had
I wasn’t expecting that fucking huge thing to be attached to such a skinny, slip of a fella.It’s like that’s where all of the food he eats goes, all of the sustenance. His heart moves blood around his body just for that….thing. It’s more than a penis, it’s a small planet; a drag on resources, a reason for large, wide legged pants. He told me he sometimes passes out when he gets an erection. He told me he has never… not once, not properly and to the end anyway.
The only answer was to keep fighting the urge to have a crack, loosen my jaw and see if I could make him pass out. I suffer from TMD, temporo mandibular disorder and opening my mouth that wide would kill me.
I considered the downstairs option but didn’t fancy bleeding or walking like a cowgirl (assuming I could walk) for a week.
Until finally I needed relief and handed him my vibrator. He had a mild woody, but neither of us wanted to die today. He put down his camera and helped me set a few things straight.
Afterward, we talked about surgery as an option for either or both of us, and devised a plan to pump him with extra bags of blood so he could at least stay conscious just one time.