Turning my head to the left, I see steam slipping through the cracks of the bathroom door. The sound of her singing and the dog’s muffled barks are a constant, yet they’ve become background noise. Rising my right leg off the floor, another gust of foul-smelling gas creeps from my arse. The stink is horrific. Imagine a bowl containing rotten eggs and chocolate, mixed together with a generous helping of gone-off milk. Sniffing such a whiff is a horrible, perverse indulgence. If it smells like this once she’s back in the room, she’ll be angry for sure. Picturing her angry face, I can’t help but giggle. Then I picture her while she sleeps, and smile to myself at the thought of being in her arms. Her arms are short yet comforting. They keep me warm. They keep the wolf from the door. She doesn’t talk much about her father. Other than the snippets I gather from her nocturnal conversations, he remains an elusive figure. Not that I would ever push her to open up about him. I don’t think she finds it difficult. That’s not the case at all. It’s more to do with that she’s got such a potent inner world that she forgets about the outside world. I do it all the time. We make a good team, yet we bring out the worst in each other at times. I say worst, I guess it depends on your perspective. What’s that saying about a duck? How on the surface it appears so calm, yet what lies beneath is the constant thrashing of its tiny feet. Meeko’s feet are tiny, too, as it happens. I often tease her about them. The size of my feet are above average. I’m not sure if it’s a myth or not, but I enjoy reminding her about the size of my feet. How they say men with large feet have big dicks. She accuses me of being crude, but she never denies it. Not that I’m bothered about the size of my dick. I couldn’t care less. Thing looks like one of those creatures from the movie Tremors. Subconsciously reaching for it, I listen to an argument brewing outside the window. People are always arguing out there. Especially near the convenience store. You get the drunks hanging around pestering you for money and when you say no they follow you and give you that look which is supposed to be threatening but comes off as lame. It’s why I don’t like going out. If I do, and someone of that description approaches me, I like having Meeko with me. She don’t give a shit. Without hesitating, she’ll cuss those types out while I hide behind her waiting for her to finish. I’m a coward, I know. But I give good head, so it’s not like she’s getting a raw deal or anything.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US