jimmi campkin

queensway hall van_jpg

We sprinted across the car park in the pissing rain.  I’d coated my wilting fringe in hairspray so it dribbled down my face, forming sticky trails on my cheeks, trickling into my eyes and blinding me.  I could run with my eyes closed though, and still catch your scent – your mother’s perfume, Parma Violets candy and the permanent marker you use to paint your fingernails.  I felt myself getting close enough to hear your heavy breathing, to feel your back-kicking feet scrape my knees and your pumping fists catch my fingers.  I tried to tap your shoulder but I misjudged and our feet entangled.  Entwined, we formed a solid mass, flying like a cannonball down inside the dusty subway, sliding and rolling into a confused, damp heap.

I checked your bones and you checked mine and then the tickling started.  Giggling and afraid, horny and frozen, we scooted against…

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