DRIFTER by Matthew Naqvi (NSFW)

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‘Did you get the stuff?’ Pia ran to the front door, her nail polish bottle in her hand. The one thing she cared about her body: her stupid fucking nails.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

She wrapped her arms around me. I held my breath as she hugged me—she didn’t realise that she always smelt like cigarettes; even when she poured layer upon layer of nail polish on.

‘I don’t know why you bother doing ya nails, no one notices them.’

‘I notice them.’ She grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom.

Pia pushed me down on to the bed. She jumped on top of me and unzipped my fly. She lifted her skirt and slid my semi hard cock inside her. Her box was boiling hot, it was like I was about to fuck a toaster.

She rode me wildly, her tits flopping around in every direction.

I looked up at the ceiling and watched a moth flutter by the flickering light bulb. Sweat burnt my nostrils, bodily fluids stained the bed. I’m glad we showered beforehand. The crabs were finally giving me a break, just in time for a fuck.

‘Why aren’t you getting hard?’ She ground her teeth and scrunched her forehead.

‘I’m just tired.’

‘I’ll try something else.’ Pia dismounted and sat beside me.

She grabbed my cock and started jerking it. I stared at the top of her head as she spat on my cock and shoved it in her mouth. I lifted her hair and noticed it was actually a mixture of three colours: black, blonde and red. I’d never noticed the red roots; maybe she’d just got it done.

The cool drifting breeze pierced my skin and actually turned me on. Her nipples protruded from her breasts like a pair of buttons. We tried doggy style, sixty-nine and missionary but after ten minutes she jumped back on top of me.

Patches of blood had dried to the sheet. I tried to scratch away at it but it was embedded in the fabric. My head crashed onto the pillow and I closed my eyes. Sweat dripped from my brow, the pillow felt more welcoming with moisture like a soft marshmallow lightly dunked in a cup of milk.

Liquid gushed down my shaft. I knew it wasn’t mine. I never came when I fucked her. She continued to grind against me, as my sweat mixed with her juices. Two minutes later she jumped off and my softening cock crashed onto my thigh.

At least the cramp in my stomach had gone. Now all I could feel was the pulsing beat in my head and the low monotonous drone it produced.

What if this is it? My so called life ended today with a body full of heroin, marijuana and beer. No job, no girlfriend, no hope.

The crabs jumped around in my pubes, roaming around my balls. I was going to tell her but her pussy was already infested with them anyway. I hope it was me that got them first—I’ve slept around recently.

I focused on the acoustic guitar leaning against the chair. Rabbit ears stuck out from the head and a sticker proclaiming peace on the body. Jeez, I haven’t played you for so long.

I lifted my head off the pillow but the rest of my body had given in. I looked over at her resting peacefully, her breathing like a gentle lullaby.

The towel that lay draped across the armchair had moved since the last time I’d seen it.

‘Let’s take a hit while we’re already on a high.’

Some heaven this was.

‘Alright, let’s do it,’ I said.

I didn’t feel up for another hit, but I couldn’t resist. It was the power of the box.

Pia reached across to the bedside table and grabbed the syringe. The vial was half empty and sat on the edge of the bed. I leaned forward and held onto her leg.

She crawled to the end of the bed and lifted my foot. She stuck the needle into my big toe. I sighed as she retrieved the syringe, a trickle of blood stemmed from my toe.

‘I love you,’ she lowered her head and took my big toe into her mouth. She sucked on it vigorously until I heard a pop.

She lifted her head. ‘Do you love me?’

Love this, love that. I couldn’t love someone like her. I sang a tune from a television ad while she sat up against the wall and shot herself up to the eyeballs with heroin. I fell asleep. Darkness covered my vision, nothing could prevent it. I pinched the bridge of my nose, slapped my cheek and tried to lick the end of my chin, but nothing could muster a sensation.

For a moment, guilt set in. Had this been any other day I might not have mixed all those drugs. Life was bad for a reason: myself.

I got into an argument at work and punched my boss in the face; I’d gotten myself kicked off the dole for failing to submit my forms.

My head dropped back onto the pillow and I faded into a deep sleep.

I woke up to find her lying with her back to me. I caressed her shoulder blades but she didn’t react. Normally she would have moaned.

I grabbed her hand and sniffed her fingers; the polish had dried. All I could smell was us. I let go of her hand and watched my crotch as the crabs scurried around in my pubes.


Matthew Naqvi is a writer, editor and writing group facilitator. He has publications in Offset, Stereo Stories, The Footy Almanac and Little Raven. Follow Matthew on Twitter @MatthewNaqvi.

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