Owl and pussycat

By Louis Rive-

The weather gathered ominously over the sickly streets and the rain gradually unlocked the hidden smells incumbent in the dirt. She stood at a light crossing. Long legs, smooth shapely even. The brown overcoat obscured all to mid thigh where garter or stockings illicitly revealed themselves. She doesn’t wait to cross but marches regardless.

Across from the scene he was waiting. Drawing on a stub with a resigned melancholy that had become all but routine in his daily life. No bright lights on the Mile End road. Just stalled dreams and a useless desire to move on. She exploded through the night. Daddy’s little girl without the paternal influence. Electric gentrification. He felt a deep surge from a place where no one but he had been in a long time. Virility aside this was nothing if not ordinary. His apperance and general demeanor resulted in rejection from all forms of communication. The rain had washed out his cigarette and the racing was over for the day. He slithered off the bookies doorstep and followed her. The shops now behind, fewer and fewer people punctuated the silence of the residential area.

She had been aware of the footsteps for ten minutes. The muffled shuffle of battered Converses scraped in her ear, far more than the distant sirens. With every turn the shoes got closer and the sirens, further away. Night and rain all encompassing as great floods of water washed the street into the great and dark drains below. She could hear the wheeze on his breath.

She was walking faster now. Not in the best shape of his life he is aware of his breathing as he struggles to shadow her form. Long beams of light rise and fall in time with his shadow as he passes under streetlights. Pulse quickened to the alarming but alluring prospect of what he was about to do.

She had walked around the block three times now. He had followed. They both knew what was going on. What could happen.

Tired of the chase he moved into position. Sprinting the last few metres to her then grabbing her by the shoulders. She gasped with expectant alarm. It was only at this point that he had doubts. He didn’t know what to do.

She sunk her teeth into his errant hand, tasting blood, cigarettes and piss.

Screaming with shame and pain he struggled away. He faces off against her finally looking into her eyes. He starts to cry. Ashamed of what he has become. What he has tried to do and why he has needed to do it. A pathetic dribbling mess he breaks down on the sodden pavement and thinks of home, thinks of what his mother would have said.

She doesn’t run or scream but stares bemused into the face of a would be rapist. His eyes blue and sunken into the grey chiseled face aged beyond his years. She smiled all teeth and tongue.

“If you had wanted to fuck me then this isn’t the way to go about it”

Her brashness took him unaware. Tired and cold with nothing but a desire for human contact. Empty inside.

“We have walked past my house three times now. Shall we get it over with?” and with that she held out her hand.

Trembling uncontrollably he grasped her with all the love in the world. Saying nothing he was led off to a maisonette three doors away.

For a man like him what followed was incredible. Again and again he climaxed in total coital bliss. Her well spoken manner urged him on at every possible opportunity and he responded in kind. Exhausted he collapsed on top of her, unable to continue.

She told him she loved him then laughed innocently for a while.

He was hungry. Shuffling through to the kitchen he took a lemon cake from the fridge. Using his hands he dug in a greedily feasted on the delicious sweet desert.

She was right where he had left her. Enrobed in cotton linen and smiling contentedly. He sidled in next to her kissed the small of her back then drifted off to sleep the sleep of kings and good men.

He was woken by the rats chewing his exposed toes. Freezing and shivering from the comedown he yanks the works from his left arm and wrapped them up in a wrinkled five pound note. A bottle of dry cider lay beside him and parched he drank deeply from it. When he realized it was urine he threw up. His trousers were stuck to his flesh with cum and it hurt as he freed the rags from the sticky embrace of his own fluids. He staggered out the cubicle and into the street. The same street.

The same day.

The same town.

The same life as before.


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