I Just Fucked Your Bitch

Piss and shit and puss and vomit – you are getting fucked mindlessly at 3am blind drunk off your mind – you are spewing in the garden as the guy who just fucked you wipes your shit off his cock. Your phlegm is sprayed across the grass glistening in the moon light. He has sticky shit skin fingers, you can see them sticking together when you look back. His wedding ring is gold, occasionally glinting in the dim light. You have vomit flavoured, sour breath, you can taste it. He has a sticky foreskin with raisons of your shit under it. What can you say, this was unexpected. If you'd known, you'd have come prepare, still, it didn't slow him down any, now did it, he got right in there. Fuck it felt good, getting opened up like the little bitch that you are. You can see his choc chip knob as he pulls his foreskin back. He tries to shake it off. The smell of your shit is in the air. 

He looks up at you with those eyes. Sexy or menacing? The eyes of a lover, or a psychopath, you are really not sure. You think they are the reason you liked him. The way he looked at you. Was it menacing, or commanding? It was the eyes, it had to be, as he wasn't much of a talker.

The wind blows cold in the dark. Bitter is the wind at 3.30am.

You shiver cold in the night. You start to say something, you don't know what. Words. Just say something.

He calls you a dirty faggot, before you feel his fist in your face. Crack! Bone hitting bone, that's what you feel. A sudden impact, unexpected. You stagger backwards. Dazed. You bring your hand to your face, automatically. Your face is wet, also kind of sticky, like treacle. It is numb, you can't feel it, the blood on your hands.  You look passed your hand to see the back of your guy disappearing across the oval towards the darkness of the trees and then out of sight.

You are alone on in the park in the early hours of the morning with your jeans and jocks around your ankles, wiping the sleeve of your hoodie across your wet stub of a nose. Cum oozes from your cock now shrivelled the size of a footy frank.

The frost on the grass is making your shoes wet. There is a breeze blowing up the backs of your legs. Up the stretched hole in your arse. You almost laugh at that thought, but you don't. You grab the waistband of your jeans and jocks and you pull them up together. None of it is fitting you exactly right, material is sticking to you in odd places and is seemingly caught in other places. You don't care, suddenly you want to do is to get out of there. You button your trousers and pull your hoodie over your head.

A group of boys yell something from the other side of the oval. You freeze. Still, like a gazelle in the cold hard gaze of the hunter. It's just the usual 4am drunk stuff. They are yelling at the night, not you, you see that. They can't see the semen dribbling out of your arse, cock and the corner of your mouth. What they'd do if they could, hey? You stuff your bloody hands into your pockets and walk quickly to the perimeter of the cleared grass to the safety of the trees. Across the clearing in the opposite direction to the latest intruders. Just in case, you never know. Turn and walk away.

You relax when you are out of the hard gaze of the open night. Your steps quicken though, as the cover of trees brings it's own fear. Nobody can see you in the darkness of the shadows. Nobody can see you cry in the dark. The tears and blood and snot, are running down your face hidden in the shadows. You wipe your sleeve across your face again. Your nose hurts now at your touch. You hurry to get out of the night. You fart and shit your pants in your haste.

The elms line the pathway in lines like sentinels. The pathways cross the grass crisscross. The park lights fall in pools intermittently. The more brightly lit street glows in the distance, up ahead, like a mirage, seemingly momentarily out of reach. You quicken your pace to make the unreachable reachable.

The street is deserted except for streetlights standing along the road, the light, golden fluid, sweeping out from each pole like a full skirt. You look right, a delivery truck turns off the main road, you look left, a cat runs across the road and disappears. You head down the street.