Chapter 7.
I meet Cressida quite by accident later the same afternoon I encountered Julie. It was almost evening actually, and I’m well pissed. I’d gone from ‘Move On’ to the Irish pub next door and was sitting at one of the tables outside in an effort to sober a little, so I could drink some more without falling over. Presumably I was looking worse for wear and dejected, but that didn’t seem to deter her one jot. She had a dog with her with a cock-eyed name like Poppy or Popeye. I can’t remember. Well, I wouldn’t, would I? I was pissed. Now Cressida isn’t beautiful: she’s thin, with a shock of red curly hair. Also, she has the most alarming smile possible and a way of being so super-happy that makes me want to puke on her. She wants to know if I’m okay.

“Don’t I look okay?” I say, answering with a question.

“Well, actually, no. You look like you’re in some sort of trouble.” She’s got this weird concerned look about her.

“You don’t say? Well, piss off and leave me alone then. I’m in mourning.” Now most girls would have been off like a shot. But Cressida? No. She’s what’s called a ‘Good Egg’ by the Brits.

“If you want to talk...” She lets it trail off and then I get that fucking crazy smile. It’s freaky.

So I’m getting sick of this and head for the pub again. I get to the bar and order yet another Boilermaker from the bartender and then... Fuck me gently! It’s Cressida again with that scary smile following me in. I see the bartender look strangely at her and I say,

“Definitely not with me, buddy. I don’t know her.” Then, she stands right next to me. Fuck!

“Mine’s a glass of white wine,” she says casually. Now I’ve got to give her ten for persistence, but I’m in no mood to be polite.

“Look, please fuck off. I’m in a bad place at the moment and I feel very antisocial. Also I eat people or something like it. I’m a very bad Vampire.” I say this in a flat unintonated way.

“Maybe,” she says, “But mine’s still a glass of white wine.” Still that fucking demented smile across her face. Realizing I cannot win this so easily, I order her the wine and get dug in for the long-haul with this nut. She starts in with the questions:

“Why are you here?”

“Fucking work here.”

“Do you live near here?”

“In a fucking way.”

“Been here long?”

“You wouldn’t fucking think so.” All quite legitimate answers really, when you think about it.

And so it goes on. People are looking now because I’m starting to sway about a bit and she’s got me by the arm to hold me up. There’s some prying questions about my ‘life’ and why I’m so pissed and so alone. The old ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ stuff starts to flow out and my defences go up like so many ICBMs. Then the female psychology. “It’s a woman!” she shouts without a word of warning. Then I tell her I’m actually heart-broken. I’m also charming, sensitive even. Yet fully in control. She must be mad. She must be all sorts of things etc., etc., etc. Lured in by vast quantities of alcohol and self-pity I start to whinge quite nicely and then regret it. Then she spouts some unnecessary spiteful crap about Julie, obviously trying to sloppily ingratiate herself with me for some reason. But it’s the wrong thing to say to me at this point in this unreasonable evening and suddenly I fall ominously silent. I feel like I want to chew on broken glass. Why can’t people just fuck off? What’s wrong with the cunts? “I think you’re about ready for bed.” she says with that horrible smile. I slur something unintelligible and clutch at the bar. It seems to move about all on its own. Unnerving. Next thing I know we’re moving and she’s poured me into a cab and we’re off somewhere. Oh fuck! Now I know it’s not to my place because even in my state I recognize we’re going in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes pass and then we stop outside an apartment God-only-knows where. She pulls me up and out of the cab and I stumble a bit and fall into her arms. Although slight physically, she seems to be strong and so I don’t fall. I start laughing as I often do when I’ve drunk too much or am defending myself from unhappiness.

Inside the lobby there’s no elevator and so we need to get up three flights of stairs. This I manage almost quite well, considering. She helps me most of the time and I get conscious that she’s copping a feel of my butt as she does. I’m too pissed to care. Too unhappy to be bothered. Inside the apartment she takes me straight to the bedroom and says, “Okay! Let’s get you undressed and under the quilt.” She starts undoing my pants and then my shirt comes off in what seems to me a practiced way. ‘Hey!’ I say as it flies off. My pants are thrown across the room and then my boxers go after them. I’m naked and flat on my back. She eyes me like a velociraptor. A voice in my head starts screaming and I wait for the craziness to start. And sure enough it does. She’s out of her clothes and on me like chocolate on a biscuit. She doesn’t know where to start first. “Hey, hey, hey!” I say as she sucks on my limp dick. But it’s all in vain because she’s in a world of her own. I look in astonishment as her breasts hang limply down like a couple of tinned plumb tomatoes. Not attractive. Her hands start to squeeze on my balls and my body stiffens with anticipation of pain, but thankfully it doesn’t come. She slips her mouth off my dick with a loud slurp and gives me that smile again. “Oh fuck,” I whisper to myself. She hears it and her eyes become wider. “Wanna fuck? Thought you guys needed a bit of loosening up beforehand.” I’m scared now. This one’s truly out to lunch somewhere. “Dildo?” she asks, looking eager. Now, I’m not sure if she means for me or for her with this question. I raise one eyebrow and hope she intends to perform for me. She reaches into a drawer in the nightstand and pulls out a thing the size of a large cucumber. A large black cucumber. All glistening with Vaseline or something. “Now just a minute, honey!” I exclaim in alarm. “Smell that!” she shouts with excitement and shoves it under my nose to take a hit. It smells of quinny sure enough and it was used not too long ago.

“Like that baby?” she asks, and then shoves it right up between her legs. I watch it sink in with fascinated horror. She didn’t even flinch. I’m trying to edge myself away from her up the bed but it’s difficult because she’s got me by the ankles and is pulling me back. She laughs like a maniac. Out comes the dildo with a sucking noise and she tries to shove it at me. “Wanna suck it, boyfriend?” I try to turn on my side to twist away from her but realize that showing an upturned butt could be an invitation I shouldn’t make. I twist back again. “Ooooh, I know what I want to do!” she says. And with that she leaps forward and straddles my face and starts rubbing back and forth franticly. “Oooh Ahhh. Oooh Ahhh. Oooh Ahhh...” She’s almost suffocating me with this shit. Now she’s off me again and swivelled round to a 69 position. Again she’s on the dick with a suck that could start a leaf blower. And I’m staring at the reddest, widest vagina ever. My eyes roll in my head and I nearly pass out. There seems but one way out of this chaos, and that’s to give her a good banging. But how to get the courage, that’s the thing? I start slapping her on the butt to get her attention but this just adds to the madness. “Ohhhh baby! You like that sort of thing?” I just can’t believe what’s happening. Cressida is off me again and is at the tallboy faster than a whippet. She produces a long, wispy teacher’s cane and comes at me like she intends to commit murder. “Now, Cressida... NO!” But too late. The first thrash stings into my butt as I’m trying to make a break from the bed. The second hits home too as I fall face first onto the floor and the third cuts me on the way through the door into the hallway. I run for the front door closely followed by this ginger nut. The last stripe hits home again, but I’m down the stairs and in the street. It’s pitch black and I’m lost. I’m also stark naked.

At the police station where I’m taken about fifteen minutes later, after being picked up by the polizia for indecent behaviour, I’m treated with no small amount of scepticism. ‘Was I masturbating as well in the street?’ ‘No,’ I tell them. ‘Oh, really? But were you going to do this filthy act?’ ‘Of course not.’ A visit to Cressida’s apartment helps nothing as she denies all knowledge of me. The cane marks? Nothing to do with her. I’m processed, given a fixed fine and taken home in a blanket. A final warning about behaving myself is given and then I’m told that I should go and do this stuff in Pisa. I’m told Florentines hate the Pisans. “Arrivederci!”

So, I’m sitting in my apartment with a large Bourbon having had a shower and put on a bath robe. The evening’s gone down the can in a handbasket as far as I can see. That fucking woman. Who the fuck is she? What the fuck does she want? And, more importantly, how the fuck did it all happen? I’m sad and confused about Julie and the last thing I need right now is this Cressida shit tonight. Of course, you can bet that I’m plotting my revenge. Take it to the bank! I begin to warm to my subject, so to speak, and let my mind play over a number of scenarios. Yes. Cressida is going to get a big surprise. I head for the bedroom and slide carefully under the quilt. I feel the bruises and lash-marks bite as I do and wish I was dead. Lololol. What a fuck of a joke that is!

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