Irvine Welsh - Skagboys

We start snogging; dirty, wet kisses, and I feel something red and inviolate gather force within me. He whispers in my ear, — Ever had a guy make love tae you in your arse? I really fancy daein it that way.

I feel myself being pulled right oot ay the horny zone cause that doesnae appeal tae me at all. In fact that’s pittin it mildly: the idea of Simon’s big, fat cock up ma bahookay makes me feel queasy, but then that dildo that Nora left behind pops inspiringly intae my mind. — You can fuck me up the arse if I can dae it tae you first!

— What … Don’t be … how can you …?

I leap offay the bed, go over tae the wardrobe and pull the dildo doon fae the top shelf, strapping it on like Nora did, positioning the base on ma pubic bone.

Simon’s black pupils expand and gleam. — Where in the name ay fuck did you get that?

— Never you mind! I want tae fuck you up the arse first, I tell him. I swivel my hips, watching my big placky plonker move fae side tae side.

He raises a doubtful brow. — Aye, that’ll be right. You’re no putting that up ma erse!

— It’s only the same size as your cock, I tell him, though I think the dildo’s a bit bigger. But this flattery seems tae appease him, and his mouth twitches, and I see a germ ay contemplation spark in his eyes. So I’m imploring him: — C’mon, it’ll be fun. You can dae me after.

— Eh … I dunno about this …

— C’mon, Simon, it’ll be an experience. You’ll enjoy it much mair than ah will.

— Aw aye, he says, — how d’ye reckon that?

— Cause you’ve got a prostate gland tae stimulate and I dinnae. The male prostate gland’s a sensitive zone. My pal Rachael’s a nurse; she telt us aw aboot it. You’ve much mair going on up there than I have. Look at homo guys; they get off on receiving as well as giving, you know.

He thinks about this. — Gen up?

— Aye, I contend, as I start to slather the Vaseline onatae the dildo. — I willnae hurt ye.

He grinds his jaw, scoffing as if that prospect was impossible, — Awright, I’m game, let’s dae it. I’ll try anything once … obviously no wi a guy but!

— You’ll love it.

— Aye, right, he says doubtfully.

So he’s on the bed, crouching, legs apart, and his protruding bum is like a girl’s except that it’s a bit more muscly and hairy in the arse-crack. No that I’ve experienced lassies’ arse-cracks, but mair hairy than I can imagine them as being. I line up the end ay the dildo and push it in. His arsehole seems to give way a bit tae allow the bell-end entry, and then tighten around the top part ay the shaft.

— Oh … fuckin hell …

— You okay?

— Course I am, he snaps.

I push in a little more. Then pull out a bit, then back in …

— Oh … aw … that’s well nippy …

I push against him and he lets himself sink slowly doon oantae the mattress, and I’m oan top ay him, pushing in, and pulling out, fucking him slowly, more of the dildo vanishing up his arse as his body tenses and relaxes, then tenses again. He groans away, grippin the bedspread tightly wi baith hands, but he’s no the only yin intae this. — Fuckin good this, eh; me fuckin you up the erse like the wee Bannanay flats bitch ye are, I spit, enjoying it, turned on like fuck, dripping, working my clit with my fingers, the other hand clamped oantae his shoodir.

With my fingers and the dildo base rubbin against me, I’m bringing myself off while fucking him, a boy , and I swear tae God this feels so good, to be able tae totally control the pace, tae penetrate …

We’re at it, we’re at it, we’re at it …

— EUUHHHGGGGGG! Simon suddenly convulses, stiffens up, and then collapses into relaxation. Soft groans bubble from him, like they’re half trapped in his throat.

I’m pulling away at my clit, rubbing it, N I’M ABOOT TAE FUCKIN EXPLODE! — YA FAHKIN BEAUTY … WHOA … whoa … whoa … ohhh … EEEGGGH …

I faw oan toap ay Simon. We’re like a heap ay Alexander’s felled trees, ready tae be incinerated. I stay prone on him for a bit, feeling the knobbly bone and muscle of his back on ma squashed tits n belly. Then I push myself up, no so much pulling the dildo oot ay his bum, as watching him eject it, as if it was a shit, as he lies sprawled on the sheets. I clip off the device and hold it up tae the light. It glistens with the Vaseline, but there’s nae trace of shite on it. — You okay? Did ye enjoy that?

— It was … sort of medical … he half mumbles intae the sheets.

I throw the dildo onto the floor and pull him over on his back. He rolls compliantly for me, and his eyes stay half shut. Then I spy sticky patches ay cum on the bed sheets and oan his stomach and chest. — You shot yir load!

— Did I …? His eyes snap open and he sits up aw agitated. — I didnae realise … He turns from the mess tae me, his eyes bulging. — Listen, Ali, ye willnae say nowt aboot this, will ye?

— Of course no, I dinnae kiss n tell, this is between us!

— Right … right … he says, and we pull back the covers and get intae bed. — It was a bit intense, but that was cause it was with you, he says, pulling me close tae him. I love the way he smells; some boys are mingers but Simon has this sweet pine-like smell, like how I imagine an expensive cologne.

— It was intense for me n aw, cause it wis you, I tell him. — I couldnae stop touching myself … I grab his cock and it’s stiffening in my hand, prising my fingers outwards. — Fuck me, I whisper in his ear, — fuck me really hard in my cunt and tell me you love me …

Simon’s face takes on a dumb, cruel twist and he looks at me like he’s going to remember our pact, but instead he’s on me and slowly pushing inside my fanny and every fibre ay me aches for more as he rides us really good in that way of his, first slowly, then hard, and he says ‘I love you’ which I ken he doesnae mean, and then stuff in Italian, and I’m swimming through mists as I’m orgasming time and time again, and I’m so demented that it’s actually a fucking relief when he finally blows and screams, — Avanti !

As we hud each other in a sweaty grasp, he thankfully seems tae have forgotten all about ma arsehole, but only cause I suspect he’s thinking ay his ain, or mibbe the gear.

TOWARDS THE TROSSACHS, pillows of snow, like fallen clouds, cling snugly to high hills and the roofs of good homes. Some windows are already ablaze with Christmas tree lights. From her cell inside the women’s prison, Janey Anderson looks out at the big flakes tumbling from the sky, wishing she could see more. Snow had never been an enemy. But what sort of a Christmas could this be?

Janey grows animated as she leaves her cell and walks down the corridor in a line of women, led by a solitary uniformed one, who opens a series of locked doors. Eventually, they reach the visiting room, where each prisoner sits at one of the desks, lined in neat rows. After a few minutes, the visitors start to file in, and there’s Maria, walking towards her, acknowledging her with a strained smile.

Janey Anderson’s limited experience has already shown her how the women’s prison can be as much a haven as a place of incarceration. Maria looks menaced and in need of protection. Dark circles smear under her eyes like bruises. Her hair seems matted in some parts, lank and greasy in others, and two angry spots flare on her chin. It wasn’t her child, more a Bizarro version; some refugee from that parallel world in the DC Comics her brother Murray used to collect. Maria remains standing, so Janey instinctively rises and reaches out to her. — Sweetheart …

A heavy-knit screw with short-cropped hair, who’d seemed to take a dislike to her, perhaps on account of their similar ages, pounces to warn Janey about touching. Bullneck craning round, she barks, — Enough! Ah’ll no tell ye again!