Glue (6 page)

— She wis gaun oot wi Alan Leighton, Maggie says, pointin tae the Gail bird.

— No now though, ah hate um, Gail goes.

— Dinnae really ken the boy, ah smiles, thinkin that Leighton’s a mate ay that Larry Wylie’s so she’s double-bound tae take the doady if she’s been knockin aboot wi yon crowd.

— Eh’s a wanker, Gail says, in a wey which ye’d be daft no tae read as: ah’m no shaggin him anymair, but ah need a length ay cock pretty bad, so come ahead big yin.

This is Terence Henry Lawson, interpreting for the badly needing shagged.

Spice ay life.

Funny aboot this Gail lassie, ah’m still tryin tae place her. Ah think she might be one ay the Bankses. Ah’m sure she’s a mate ay Doyle’s sister. Nah’m sure she used tae wear glesses, nice gold-rimmed glesses that made her look even dirtier and sexier than she is now, if that’s possible. Mibbe it wis her mate ah’m thinkin aboot. But aye, she’ll go, nae bother, ye jist git soas ye kin tell. Ah turns tae Maggie, whae’s lookin a bit left oot. — Surprised that you’re no spoken fir Maggie, ah say, watchin her blush a bit again. — Ah mean, ah’m no complainin, mind you, it’s great news fir me. See, ah’ve eywis fancied ye!

Gail throws back her heid n laughs. Then she rolls her eyes n goes, — Whae-hae!

Wee Maggie though, she sortay joins her hands thegither n lowers her eyes aw shy n says, her voice gaun aw low, — But you’re gaun oot wi Lucy Wilson.

Fuck me, it was like she wis in a church or something. She’s foolin nae cunt wi that shite. She’s a proddy, which means ye nivir go tae church. — Naw, that’s aw past now. So if ah wis tae ask ye tae go oot wi me, wid ye?

She looks aw crimson. She turns tae Gail, n laughs, no sure whether ah’m takin the pish or no.

— Terry’s askin ye a question, Maggie! Gail says aw loud.

— Ah dinnae ken, she says back aw irritated, but a wee bit coy at the same time.

The thing is thit thir’s gaun oot n gaun oot. Sometimes whin ye say yir ‘gaun oot’ wi somebody it jist means thit yir ridin thum. Other times it’s a bit like ‘gaun steady’. That’s fuckin daft, like ye wir gaun crooked before. Naw, Lucy’s a bird ye go oot wi, eywis well-dressed n a virgin until ah goat a hud ay her. Thir’s birds like her, the ones ye go oot wi, n thir’s ones like Maggie n that Gail, ones ye jist ride.

— Well if you dinnae, naebody else does, eh Terry, Gail says and gies me a wee wink.

She’s a fuckin ride awright. Ah’m really no that bothered aboot Maggie now, ye eywis go wi the goer, n even though they’ll baith go, that Gail’s defo. Ye kin tell right away.

The thing is but, it’s Maggie’s hoose, n wir no wantin flung oot. — Mibbe ah could convince ye, ah sais tae her. — Ye no gaunny sit oan ma knee?

She looks aw doubtful.

— C’mere, ah say. — C’moan, ah twist ma heid.

Gail looks up at her, eggin her oan. — Eh’s no gaunny bite ye, Maggie, she tells her. Ah like this lassie, fill ay mischief. Exactly ma type. Mind you, thir
aw
ma fuckin type.

— Dinnae kid yirsell, ah laugh at them. — C’moan Maggie, ah say, a wee bit mair impatient. A lassie gaun aw shy’s nice for a wee while, but then it becomes borin n ye want them stripped fir action. Naebody loves a cockteaser eftir aw. She comes ower and ah pill her doon oantae ma knee n start movin ma legs, rockin her thin wee body up n doon. Ah gie her a wee kiss oan the mooth. — There, that wisnae sae bad. Ah’ve wanted tae dae that for a long time, ah kin tell ye that.

Tae any fuckin mooth that is. Humpin crates aw day when ye should be humpin fanny. Maggie’s intae it, she pits her hand roond ma neck and runs her fingers through the hair at the back ay ma heid. Ah’m lookin at the auld tiled fireplace wi the gas fire that aw they scruffy auld tenement hooses huv goat. No aw modern n electric, like us, the snobs, ower in the new flats.

— Ah like the wey yuv goat yir hair, she goes.

Ah smile, that wee shy smile that ah’ve practised in the mirror every day, n ah kiss her again, a longer, slower yin this time.

Ye kin hear a loud breath as Gail stands up. We brek oaf fir a bit. — Since you two are gittin aw lovey-dovey, ah’m gaun upstairs fir a bit, tae play that tape, Gail says aw snooty, but it’s sort ay pit oan, cause
ye can tell that she kens that her length is as good as guaranteed, which it is, if no now then eftir.

Ye see, ah ken every baker’s shoap in West Edinburgh. That’s the beauty ay workin oan the juice lorries.

Maggie sort ay half-heartedly protests as Gail goes. — Goan pit the kettle oan, she asks, but Gail’s already oot the door, cause ah watched that tight erse in they white troosers vanish oot ma sight n aw ah wis thinkin aboot wis gittin a hud ay it later oan.

First things first but. That wis one thing ah did learn at the school, way back in the primary. They daft sayins thit they gied ye. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Ah make it different but; a bird’s bush in your hand is worth two wi thir clathes oan. — Ah’ll pit the kettle oan, ah say tae her, — but only if ah git another kiss first.

— Git away, she goes.

— One wee kiss, goan, ah whisper.

One wee kiss, that’ll be right. After snoggin for aboot ten minutes, ah’ve goat that daft cardy then her toap n bra oaf n her wee tits are bouncin up n doon in the palms ay ma hands and she’s looking at them like she’s never seen them before.

Whae-hae ya cunt that ye are! Ah’m fuckin guaranteed here!

Ah settles her doon oan the couch giein her the stinky-pinky for a bit, slidin ma hand up that wee kilt and inside her pants, enjoyin her groans as she starts tae work herself oantae ma stiff little fingers. Ah’m thinkin aboot that band and wonderin if the dirty cunt that made the name up wis ivir thinkin aboot some bird eh wis friggin oaf. Here’s an Alternative Ulster fir ye hen! Spice ay life!

Time for action, ah pill doon the pants ower her knees and then her ankles, and pill her oantae me. She’s tremblin as ah gits ma ain breeks doon ower ma thighs n ma cock oot. Ah’ve goat her wee erse in one hand and her tits in another as her hands rest oan my shoodirs. Nae need fir her tae try n play the wee virgin, she’s been done before, by maist ay Topsy’s crew ah reckon. Nivir hud a pole like this in her but, that must be guaranteed. She’s dead wee, even mair so than Lucy n so ah start oaf fuckin her slowly until she’s gaggin for mair so ah step up a gear giein it tae her goodstyle. — Aye, Aye, ye fuckin well like that eh? Eh? ah goes, but she’s no sayin nowt until she gies oot a wee cry when she gits there. Ah start makin daft squeaky wee sounds like a dippit wee tart masel, but, well, that’s the heat ay passion n aw that.

She’d better no say nowt tae nae cunt aboot me makin they noises. A loat ay boys think thit lassies dinnae talk like that tae each other,
thit it’s aw sugar n spice, bit that’s crap. Thir jist like us. Fuckin worse, if the truth be telt.

Ah hud her for a wee while, cause in ten minutes ah’ll be ready again, but it’s like she’s in a trance. Nae point wastin time. — Ah’d better go up n take a wee leak, ah tell her.

As ah stand up n pill oan ma shreddies, then ma jeans n T-shirt, she’s staring oaf intae space, then wrappin her clathes roond her.

Ah go upstairs, mountin the blue threadbare-carpeted steps two at a time. In the bog thir’s a shite thit husnae flushed away. It makes ays feel funny aboot peein in it, as if the shite’s gaunny fly up ma piss-tube, so ah pish in the sink then gie ma tackle a wee wash. When ah finish ah clocks this spider in the bath so ah blasts the cunt wi baith taps, flushin the fucker away, before gaun in tae the bedroom next door.

Gail’s lying oan the bed, face doon. She’s goat the headphones oan, thir coming ootae the music centre fae a long cord, trailin doon the back ay her toap, n across one ay they nice buttocks, so she cannae even hear me come intae the room. Her erse looks great in they white troosers, ye can see the pant line stretchin oot ower the buttocks n vanishin right intae that erse n fanny crack. She’s readin this book oan the pillay, her long dark hair hingin doon. She’s goat a good body awright, chunkier than Maggie’s, much mair fuckin womanish.

Thir’s a big poster ay Gary Glitter oan the waw above her. That cunt’s barry. Ah like that bit whin eh goes: ah’m the man thit pit the bang in gangs. He’s the fuckin boy. Ah mean, ah like The Jam n the Pistols now but him n Slade are the only cunts fae the auld days ah still go fir.

Ah stand and take in the view for a bit, giein Gary a wee wink. Ah’ll show the cunt how tae pit the bang in gangs awright. So that’s ays as stiff as a fuckin rock again. Ah move ower n turn the volume doon n watch her spin aroond n pill oaf the headphones. She’s no surprised at aw tae see me. Ah’m surprised tae see her, cause she’s wearin they gold-rimmed glesses. That should turn ye oaf, but it jist makes me hornier than ever. — Awright four-eyes, ah goes.

— Ah jist wear thum fir readin, she sais, takin thum oaf.

— Well ah think thir sexy as anythin, ah say, movin right ower tae the bed, thinkin that if ah grab her and she kicks up fuck, ah’ll jist let go n tell her ah wis only jokin. But thir’s nowt tae worry aboot here, cause ma tongue’s in her mooth n thir’s nae resistance, so ah’ve goat ma cock oot, n she’s goat her hand oan it, well fuckin game.

— No here . . . we cannae now . . . she goes, but she isnae in any big hurry tae lit go ay ma knob.

— Fuck it, c’moan, Maggie kens the score, ah tell her.

She looks at ays for a second but ah’m gittin ma gear oaf n she’s no far behind. We’re right under the covers. Ah’m feelin great n it’s barry thit ma cock’s still hard even though ah shot ah fair auld bit ay wad intae Maggie. The likes ay Carl or Wee Gally, they’d be up in the Royal in intensive care eftir a wank, nivir mind a bird. Disnae bother me, ah could fuck aw day.

Ah’m impressed by this Gail’s attitude; nae fuckin aboot, the keks n the bra are oaf straight away. Ah loat ay birds leave oan the keks as sortay insurance thit thi’ll git a bit ay foreplay, but it’s only a toss-bag whae’d jist try n stuff it straight between a lassie’s legs whin thir’s plenty other fun tae be had first.

So auld Gary Glitter’s lookin doon at us as ah’ve goat ma tongue between Gail’s legs. She’s tryin tae push ma heid away at first, but it becomes a rub oan ma scalp then a tug oan ma hair as ah starts lappin her up and she relaxes her grip and she’s right fuckin intae it. Ah’ve goat ma hands under her buttocks, gittin a good grope at her ersecheeks, then ah slide ma finger inside her and start giein her fanny a wee frig. Ah’m tryin tae twist roond, cause they big lips ay hers wir meant fir sookin oan ma knob but the covers’re slippin oaf us. The trick is tae keep her oan the boil, but tae make it soas she’s goat tae take ma cock in her mooth. She’s intae that though, she’s still runnin her hand the length ay it, pillin the foreskin back.

— That’s great Terry, this is mad, we’re mental . . . she gasps.

— Spice ay life, ah grunt back at her, — ah want ma tongue right up your holes, one eftir the other, ah tell her. That wis what this boy said in this dirty video that Donny Ness had. Ah eywis try tae mind ay aw they best lines, and the best moves.

So there’s me straddlin her sixty-nine-style, and she’s goat ma cock in her mooth n she’s suckin hard oan it, and by Christ, this lassie can gam. Ah’m pullin her wee flaps apart and giein it big postage stamp licks n fingerin her cunt first, then her ersehole which smells aw moist and earthy, then ah’m back oantae her clit which feels big and stiff enough tae be a mini-cock, and she pills ma knob oot her mooth n there wis me thinkin she wis gaspin fir air, but naw, it’s her comin in jagged, shocked spasms, ma finger jammed oantae that wee love-button ay hers like it wis stuck oan the dial ay a good radio station.

So she’s gaspin as her shudders run doon, but ah’m no finished wi
her yit, n ah twist roond n pill ehr up and her face is in a wide, mental shock n ah’m oan the bed but ah’ve goat her heid doon oan ma cock, and she’s gammin ays like fuck, her big eyes lookin up n watchin ays, spillin wi gratitude cause she kens that wis jist the starter n she’s gittin well fucked in a second or two. Ah’ve goat her hair in ma hands, twistin they dark locks, n ah’m pillin her tae me, then away fae me, adjustin the pace n range so she gits it right n aye, she kens what she’s daein, cause her heid settles intae the right rhythm n ah dinnae even need tae thrust ma ain pelvis in time or nowt like that. She’s gaggin a bit and she pills away, which is a good thing cause ah wis decidin whether or no ah wanted tae blaw it intae her mooth n save fuckin her in the fanny till later oan, keep the wee hoor aw hoat n bothered. Bit ah think, naw, ah’ll gie her it fine style right now. Ah’m oan toap ay her n gittin in, n she’s sayin, — Aw Terry, wi shouldnae be daein this, no the now . . .

Ah’ve heard that song before. — Want ays tae stoap then, ah gasp.

Ye dinnae huv tae be that Bamber Gascoigne cunt oot ay that
University Challenge
tae ken the answer tae that. Aw ah git is another, — Aw Terry . . . in reply, n ah take that as ma fuckin starter fir ten awright.

So there’s me right up, n ah’m startin tae git intae ma stride now n this Gail looks away n tenses up briefly, then lets oot a low laugh n pills ma heid tae her, n thir’s a strange expression oan her face. Ah looks up n sees that Maggie’s come intae the room.

Maggie pills her airms in the shape ay a croass ower her chist. It’s like she’s jist been shot. She stands thaire fir a bit sayin nowt, her wee mooth aw twisted. — Yi’ll need tae go, ma Uncle Alec’s here, she finally whispers at us, lookin aw uptight n worried.

Gail turns away again, facin the waw, n goes, — Aw god, ah cannae fuckin stand this! She’s grippin the bed clathes, then clawin them like she’s a fuckin cat.

Ah’m still fuckin solid but and nae cunt’s gaun naewhaire till ah’ve blawn ma muck. — Shut up the now, ah goes tae Maggie, but still lookin at Gail as ah keep thrustin, — you go doon n see yir Uncle Alec . . . we’ll be . . .

Ah hears the door slam n then Gail starts gaun fir it again n within a few mair strokes she’s makin they noises, n ah wanted tae git her oan toap fir a bit, then mibbe even try n stick it in her other hole tae finish up, but that’ll have tae wait now cause ay that dopey wee Maggie cow, but fuck it, it’ll gie ays something else tae look forward tae later oan, so she’s screamin n moanin n ah’m makin they gaspin sounds n she’s
comin like a trooper n ah am n aw, n thank fuck Maggie’s taken the hump n went oot the room as we explode cause yon Gail’s gaun oaf like a pint ay milk left oot in the Sahara Desert. — Aw Terry . . . you’re a fuckin animal . . . she screams.