The Cigarette
I’d waited so long for that one moment. When someone, anyone, would finally notice me. And reach for me. And I’d get to be the one – the one they really, really fucking wanted. Tbh, by the end it was all I thought about. Nothing else, other than this obsessive craving – this craving to feel. To feel what? Just to feel needed.
That makes me sound lonely, doesn’t it? But, honestly, I wasn’t. I grew up in a little commune of sorts, you see. It was snug and cosy and safe, nestled there amongst my brothers. But we all knew there was more out there and, truth be told, we were ready for it when it came. Of course, none of us actually knew what it was we were waiting for. All we knew, all I knew, was that we wanted it.
The others - most of them - they left before me. I started to get lonely. So lonely. I began to feel stale, cooped up. Worst of all, I felt unwanted. But there really was nothing I could do about it. Other than to hope, and wait, and keep my head up.
I did, and it all worked out. Sort of.
It was so quick when it all finally happened. Not how I’d pictured it at all. I’d dreamt of meeting over a glass of wine. Perhaps the first bottle of rose on a summer’s eve. In the countryside. After a long week. You know, that picturesque kind of shit.
Instead she came upon me outside the pub, a good few drinks down into her Friday night. And though it wasn’t exactly how I’d played it out in my head, there were sparks. Fire, even. I suppose, you could say, our meeting was made up of all those metaphors they use for love at first sight. Though, of course, in hindsight, I now know it was lust.
I feel embarrassed to recount this because, if I’m honest, the whole experience was fairly sordid - up against the wall, her sucking hard upon me, her lips wet and wanting, fast, furious and then… then she passed me to a friend, who grabbed greedily for me with her calloused fingers and took me in her craggy mouth…
I didn’t like that. Not one bit. Sure it should have felt hot, this naughty little ménage a trois. And, you know what, her friend’s hands and lips probably weren’t all that bad. It’s just that I only wanted her. Not some sh*tty porno.
I felt used. I guess, thinking about it, I was.
But I was stupid to expect anything more. What with the alcohol on her breath and the fact we were shivering outside in the cold, while her mate – James or something – was inside getting her a drink. I mean, it was never going to be anything more than a quickie.
She left me in the gutter. That was that. I’d like to say it was worth it, but tbh I’m not sure.
HER: Oh go on then, give us a fag..