The Bull's Head

When I enter the living room the air is thick with blue smoke. She is perched on the edge of the sofa, taking long, contemplative drags from another one of my Dunhills. Her hair is untidy and her make-up is fucked. She isn't crying exactly, but her eyes are red and welling up with tears.

As I look at her sitting there, pensive, wistful, astonishingly pretty, I start to rethink. Maybe she is the most beautiful girl in Hackney? She certainly is more beautiful than you deserve. And she definitely deserves a man who won't ponce her out because he's too lazy to get a job. Oh well, I guess that's none of my business now, is it?

"Don't tell Steve, yeah?" she says, not even looking at me.

"What do you mean? Steve set it up."

"Don't tell him that I didn't make you wear a johnny. I promised I would. And don't tell him I let you fuck me up the arse either. I don't even let him do me in the arse."

"I have no intention of telling Steve anything about it," I reassure her. She doesn't respond.

Turns out you did tell her to make me wear a condom, after all. Interesting. I like the way she says that she let me have her arse, as if she had any choice in the matter. Never mind, it's probably better she thinks that.

She finishes her cigarette and gets to feet. I gaze at her body, knowing this is the last chance I'll ever have to see it like this.

"I need a shower," she announces and brushes past me with the same air she had when I opened the door to her and she walked into the flat.

"Towels are in the cupboard."

She doesn't respond.

***

When she returns, she has showered, washed off her make-up, fixed her hair somehow and dressed. She puts her jacket back on and does a quick check in her handbag to make sure her hard earned five hundred pounds is still where she left it. Nonchalantly she tosses in my half empty fag packet as well. I don't begrudge her.

I walk her to the front door, her ahead of me. Once we reach it she stops and turns round. Again we look each other dead in the eye, only half knowing what the other is thinking, but still communicating more than words ever could.

Then she has one last surprise for me. She drops to her knees and pulls down my pants in the same manner as when we first entered my bedroom. Ignoring that it is in serious need of a wash, she takes my still soft dick in her mouth and gets me hard in seconds. She gives me a fervent, passionate and hungry blowjob. Sucking all the way down my shaft, gagging slightly as it hits the back of her throat, using her tongue to expertly tease the head. She works quickly and efficiently, every bob of her head bringing me closer.

It's not long before she senses I'm coming. She tips her head back, eyes open, looking directly at me. Mouth wide, she wanks me off onto her tongue. I groan and come into Chloe Turner's open mouth.

She says nothing, just swallows, gets up and walks out of the front door. I am alone in the flat. The smell of smoke and a very faint waft of Impulse bodyspray are all that linger of her.

So Steve, mate. That's the whole story from beginning to end, every sordid detail. The whole story I sure as hell will never tell you.