they gaspin sounds n she’scomin 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.
Fuck-ahrrrrr . . .
Ah gasps n then jist huds her, giein her every droap ay it thit’s in ays. Then, lettin ma breathin settle, ah starts thinkin aboot her bein at Auggie’s n a pape n that, n ah’m hopin tae fuck she’s oan the bun. Ah gies her a slobbery kiss on they big lips, then ah arch masel up oan ma airms n look her in the eye. — We’ve goat fuckin chemistry doll. Ye dinnae turn yir back oan that. Ken whit ah’m sayin?
She nods.
That’s a great line, it came fae one ay they films ah saw at the Classic in Nicolson Street.
Percy’s Progress
, ah think it wis. The one aboot the white boy thit goat the darkie’s cock pit oan him.
Ah git oaf her n wi start gittin dressed.
Then Maggie’s back in, — Youse huv tae go, she nearly squeals at us, her eyes aw rid, twistin a lock ay her ain hair in her fingers.
Gail’s lookin for her knickers, but ah’d goat thaire first n done a sneaky yin n stuck thum in ma poakit. Souvenir. Like ah did wi that Philippa fae Huddersfield ah shagged in that guesthoose. A souvenir ay Blackpool. Why no? Each tae thir ain. Yir better ridin birds thin trams, better lickin fannies thin sticks ay rock. That’s what ah say anywey.
This Maggie’s well nippy but. — C’moan Maggie, what’s the problem? Yir Uncle’s no gaunny bother us up here, ah tell her. — Yir no jealous ay Gail ur ye?
— Fuck off, she spits oot. — Jist you git oot ay here son!
Ah shake ma heid as ah lace up me dessie boots. Ah cannae stand immaturity in a lassie whin it comes tae issues ay the cock n fanny. If ye want a shag, huv a shag. If ye dinnae, jist say naw. — Dinnae be gittin aw fuckin wide, Maggie, me n Gail here wir just huvin a wee bit ay fun, ah warns the dippit wee cow. Every cunt’s entitled tae some enjoyment. What’s the big fuckin problem? Ah should’ve sais that line fae
Emmanuelle
, ah think it wis, whaire the boy goes: don’t be so hung-up and repressed, baby.
— That’s aw it wis, Maggie, Gail says, still lookin fir her pants, — dinnae go aw funny aboot it. You’ve no even been gaun oot wi Terry.
Maggie grits her teeth at Gail, then turns tae me, — So does that mean yir gaun wi her now? she asks, aw hurt. Dinnae fight girls, dinnaefight, thir’s enough tae go roond fir everybody! Guaranteed! Dinnae be sae repressed and hung-up, baby!
Ah turns roond tae Gail n winks at her. — Naw . . . dinnae be daft, Maggie. Like ah wis sayin, it wis jist a daft bit ay fun. Eh, Gail? Ye goat tae huv a laugh, eh. C’mere n gies a wee cuddle, ah says tae Maggie, pattin the bed. — You me n Gail here, ah whispers. — Yir Uncle Alec’s no gaunny bother us.
She stands her groond, lookin aw hard at ays. Ah mind whin me n Carl Ewart wir monitors at the school dinners, servin up the grub tae oor table. Cause eh fancied her, the Milky Bars wir oan him awright, n Carl used tae make sure she goat a good load, seconds as well. Wi probably kept the scruffy wee cow alive Carl n me, n this is the fuckin thanks ah git.
Bet ye oor Mr Ewart wid huv liked tae huv served up the wee hingoot wi the portion thit ah jist did! Guaranteed!
— Terry, you seen ma pants? Gail asks. — Ah cannae find ma fuckin pants.
— Naw, thir no ma size, ah laughs. They’ll be right under ma pillay the night! Sniffity-sniff-sniff!
— Try fuckin well keepin them oan sometime, ye might no lose thum sae easy, Maggie hisses at her.
— Aye, jist like you did, Gail snaps back. — Dinnae git fuckin wide wi me, hen, jist cause yir in yir ain hoose!
Maggie’s eyes’ve gaun aw that watery wey again. Every cunt kens thit Gail wid batter fuck oot ay her in a square go. This is some wee show right enough. Ah’ve goat ma keks
Fuck-ahrrrrr . . .
Ah gasps n then jist huds her, giein her every droap ay it thit’s in ays. Then, lettin ma breathin settle, ah starts thinkin aboot her bein at Auggie’s n a pape n that, n ah’m hopin tae fuck she’s oan the bun. Ah gies her a slobbery kiss on they big lips, then ah arch masel up oan ma airms n look her in the eye. — We’ve goat fuckin chemistry doll. Ye dinnae turn yir back oan that. Ken whit ah’m sayin?
She nods.
That’s a great line, it came fae one ay they films ah saw at the Classic in Nicolson Street.
Percy’s Progress
, ah think it wis. The one aboot the white boy thit goat the darkie’s cock pit oan him.
Ah git oaf her n wi start gittin dressed.
Then Maggie’s back in, — Youse huv tae go, she nearly squeals at us, her eyes aw rid, twistin a lock ay her ain hair in her fingers.
Gail’s lookin for her knickers, but ah’d goat thaire first n done a sneaky yin n stuck thum in ma poakit. Souvenir. Like ah did wi that Philippa fae Huddersfield ah shagged in that guesthoose. A souvenir ay Blackpool. Why no? Each tae thir ain. Yir better ridin birds thin trams, better lickin fannies thin sticks ay rock. That’s what ah say anywey.
This Maggie’s well nippy but. — C’moan Maggie, what’s the problem? Yir Uncle’s no gaunny bother us up here, ah tell her. — Yir no jealous ay Gail ur ye?
— Fuck off, she spits oot. — Jist you git oot ay here son!
Ah shake ma heid as ah lace up me dessie boots. Ah cannae stand immaturity in a lassie whin it comes tae issues ay the cock n fanny. If ye want a shag, huv a shag. If ye dinnae, jist say naw. — Dinnae be gittin aw fuckin wide, Maggie, me n Gail here wir just huvin a wee bit ay fun, ah warns the dippit wee cow. Every cunt’s entitled tae some enjoyment. What’s the big fuckin problem? Ah should’ve sais that line fae
Emmanuelle
, ah think it wis, whaire the boy goes: don’t be so hung-up and repressed, baby.
— That’s aw it wis, Maggie, Gail says, still lookin fir her pants, — dinnae go aw funny aboot it. You’ve no even been gaun oot wi Terry.
Maggie grits her teeth at Gail, then turns tae me, — So does that mean yir gaun wi her now? she asks, aw hurt. Dinnae fight girls, dinnaefight, thir’s enough tae go roond fir everybody! Guaranteed! Dinnae be sae repressed and hung-up, baby!
Ah turns roond tae Gail n winks at her. — Naw . . . dinnae be daft, Maggie. Like ah wis sayin, it wis jist a daft bit ay fun. Eh, Gail? Ye goat tae huv a laugh, eh. C’mere n gies a wee cuddle, ah says tae Maggie, pattin the bed. — You me n Gail here, ah whispers. — Yir Uncle Alec’s no gaunny bother us.
She stands her groond, lookin aw hard at ays. Ah mind whin me n Carl Ewart wir monitors at the school dinners, servin up the grub tae oor table. Cause eh fancied her, the Milky Bars wir oan him awright, n Carl used tae make sure she goat a good load, seconds as well. Wi probably kept the scruffy wee cow alive Carl n me, n this is the fuckin thanks ah git.
Bet ye oor Mr Ewart wid huv liked tae huv served up the wee hingoot wi the portion thit ah jist did! Guaranteed!
— Terry, you seen ma pants? Gail asks. — Ah cannae find ma fuckin pants.
— Naw, thir no ma size, ah laughs. They’ll be right under ma pillay the night! Sniffity-sniff-sniff!
— Try fuckin well keepin them oan sometime, ye might no lose thum sae easy, Maggie hisses at her.
— Aye, jist like you did, Gail snaps back. — Dinnae git fuckin wide wi me, hen, jist cause yir in yir ain hoose!
Maggie’s eyes’ve gaun aw that watery wey again. Every cunt kens thit Gail wid batter fuck oot ay her in a square go. This is some wee show right enough. Ah’ve goat ma keks
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