Got this scrawled all tiny on a postcard from Norman Same, GoodLife's man on the scene in Mattersville:
"They may all be there at the same time, but it's really only one at a time if you follow," being the dirt here according to Matt Black, as the bar props him up by one elbow over his beer. "It can get real grubby though."
"Like this one chick. We're in my kitchen, getting dragged through that gravely morning after an E thing, and we haven't slept yet so everything’s got that nasty sketched with a pencil look, and things aren’t gonna get any less nasty if she’s got a say in it."
"Uhuh," Mitch Scott is listening, curious but without the relish Matt has for the tale being told.
"I'm there trying to get interested in this bowl of cereal that I thought might help, but at that point it really wasn't offering me much and I was having a hard time with the idea of putting it in my mouth. And then she climbs up on the table, whips up her bathrobe and just scootches down over the bowl.”
"But I'm too caned to shoo her off and she's trying to get right inside the bowl, going "You want some milk pussy huh? There's a good pussy, lap it up, lap it up." And I’m just like what the fuck? This chick’s in my Nutrigrain.”
"But you know, after a while, I'm just like, huh,” Matt shrugs. “What the fuck, this chick’s in my Nutrigrain."
Mitch looks like he's unsure whether to be jealous or revolted. Most times Matt’s soiled tales of polygamy come up, he's happy to relegate them to the part of his skull that deals with his own fleeting memories of sordid encounters and half remembered scenes from random skin flicks.
Unfortunately that part of his skull seems to be experiencing a dull, off-putting ache.
He tries tucking it away with those memories marked “other”; just random stuff, sexually related but by no means sexy. But the idea's not working, because, as always, opening that file leads straight back to the guilty moment his mum walked in on him having a tug to a stick mag.
Damned if he didn't get crucified for possession of those glossy pages, but it was a good lesson in keeping shit secret, 101 in the ancient male art of squirreling stuff away.
“Can’t be talking about that stuff at home though. Some things just aren’t good candour with a girlfriend,” Matt’s says through teeth, lips locked in a smile an inch from the neck of his beer, then takes a swig.
But Mitch is hiding out with all the stuff he has stashed.
All kinds of stuff, from gilded savings in the wank bank, to that expensive little toy he'll be able to use once he's had it a while. That better stay hidden for the time being though, so when the other half eventually spies it, he can claim he’s had it for ages. And it won’t be a lie, so he hasn’t lied to her and she can’t go getting her knickers in a twist about spending good money on something she can't see the importance of.
Like another gin and tonic for example.
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