Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

That fuckin well gits the cunt! — You got a point, dammit, I could dial some high-class call girl right now, he waves ehs phone, — but that shit does nothing for me.

— Me n aw, mate. Ah’m no suggesting hoor. Ah ken plenty weys ye could git a hot date!

— Terry, I’m too damned busy to get involved with women! I gotta call that fucking Swede about our arrangement –

— Dane, buddy, the boy’s Danish, ah tells the ignorant cunt. — N yir nivir too busy fir a ride, mate; what the fuck’s the point ay workin aw ooirs if ye cannae enjoy some rumpy-pumpy? Yir jist a sad fuckin addict tae graft. Leave it tae that Mortimer cunt tae sort oot. Ah eywis say: why huv a dug n bark yersel, n ye kin see eh’s comin roond at that. — C’moan, let’s check in at this daft wee speed-datin club ah ken, designed for busy professionals like us — it’ll take us ten fuckin minutes tae pill!

— Oh, what the hell. . the cunt actually fuckin smiles, — . . You know, Terry, I’ve kinda been enjoying our little adventures!

So am ah. It’s a smooth drive back tae toon, n ah parks up n we gits doon tae Bar Cissism. Right away ah kin see thit thaire’s some fresh minge oan offer! Ya beauty, a ginger burd n aw! So ah gits fired in, n wir gittin oan like hoose oan fire! Cannae wait tae see if the rug matches the curtains wi this yin! As we’re chattin away, fae the corner ay ma eye ah clocks Ronnie, sittin back talkin tae this burd. N ah kin hear her sayin, — What dae ye huv yir hair like that fir?

Ronnie disnae look chuffed, n eh gits up n goes tae another table! Fuckin radge!

Fuck him — ah’m layin it oan the line wi the ginger burd. — Tae be honest, ah’m no really lookin for a relationship. N if ah’m bein really upfront ah’m no even that fussed aboot a steady ride; a one-off’ll dae ays right now. Nae reflection oan you, you’re tidy likes, it’s jist thit ah’m solidly booked ower the next few months.

— That’s aw ah’m eftir n aw, the lassie goes, — ah’m busy tae. So ye stey near here?

— Your carriage awaits — excuse me a second, ah goes, thinkin, result , as ah heads ower tae Ronnie, whae’s talking tae some posh bint aboot gowf. — Ronnie, ah’ve goat tae shoot oaf for a wee bit. Thaire’s some minge needs splittin, ay.

— You can’t leave me here, he looks at the lassie opposite whae’s checkin something on her phone, — I’m getting hit on!

— Good on ye!

— But you’re my driver –

— Have tae jildy, buddy boy, minge needin split, ay, ah repeat, tae emphasise that ah’m no fuckin aboot here. — As you say: close the deal, business takes George Bernard Shaws, n ah winks ower at the ginger burd, — but the hotel’s just a short walk acroass the street. See ye in reception in an hour. You Yanks need tae dae a bit walkin, gittin in and oot ay motors aw the time isnae good fir ye!

— When in Rome, I guess, Ronnie goes, then sais, lookin ower at the lassie oan the phone and droapin ehs voice tae a whisper, — None of them seem to have seen the show, but they do get pretty impressed when I tell them I’m staying at the Balmoral!

— I’ll bet they do, ah tell um, cause every burd in here kens whae he is and thir poised tae take um tae the cleaners.

His problemo; ah’m fair taken by this ginger nut but, ay. She’s goat they freckles like some cunt just shot a wad ay orange spunk aw ower her puss. Her hair’s a bit short but; the point ay being a ginger is tae lit they fuckin locks flow. This is for a lassie, obviously; for ginger-heided laddies, the likes ay the Ginger Bastard, ye make sure the fucker’s razed oaffay that scalp. But she’s as obsessed wi ma hair as ah am wi hers. As we exit she starts pattin the locks. — Ah like your hair.

— Ah feel the same aboot yours, ah goes, as we gits oot intae the street.

— You jist want tae find oot if the rug matches the curtains, she smiles.

— Well, now that ye mention it, ah’m no gaunny lie. .

So when we gits back up tae mine we strip oaf (she’s no fuckin shy!) n it’s the best ginger muff ah’ve seen in ma puff! She’s kept it thick but chopped it in a nice wee ‘V’ at the toap, like an array pointing tae the site, as if ah need some air-traffic-control cunt flaggin me intae that landing bay! Wish Sick Boy hudnae decanted tae London, could dae wi a digi cam oan this yin fir the catalogue! But that wee bit ay plumage oan top sais it’s Doaktir Who’s skerf time! — Ye must git that pussy munched oot a loat, ah goes.

— Ah dae awright.

— Yir gaunny dae awright here, ah winks. — This tongue could take the crumbs oot the bottom ay a Pringles tube, ah tells her, n she hus a wee giggle. Ah sees her lookin at Auld Faithful, standin tae attention, like a fox staring at a juicy chicken. — Aye, first burd ah ever went wi wis baith epileptic and asthmatic and she started huvin a double episode, right when we wir gaun at it! Ah said tae masel eftir: ‘Terry, dinnae lit yir standards droap.’ They huvnae since! Anywey, less talk, mair cock. .

So ah’m doon oan it but she’s turned roond n giein Auld Faithful the same treatment. N this burd’s an expert, it’s gittin sooked, licked, teased, flicked, then she’s takin it right tae the back ay the throat. See, whin ye meet yir equivalent in the burd world, it’s jist so fuckin barry! Ye acknowledge that yuv baith goat other holes n poles tae colonise, so thaire’s nae point in pretendin it’s gaun anywhere, but see, those moments: fuckin vintage, ya cunt.

So ah’m wonderin if we can sort something oot oan camera later, when. . ya fucker. . she’s gaspin away, pushed the cock aside, n ah’m oaf her n roond her and in her, giein her it good style. Her coupon’s flushin up the same colour as that napper, n she makes a slutty, evil face n we’re baith screamin n tearin away like some cunt had poured petrol oan us n set us alight n time slows doon like a car crash n wir fillin the room, flat, stair, street, city, country n world wi noise, signallin tae some green space pervert wi fifty cocks n fannies oan it, whae’s settin course fir Earth right now, tae git some ay this action. . another wey ay sayin: a decent ride.

Eftir oor heids start tae reassemble, ah pits the scud-movie proposition tae her, but she’s no interested. — Ah work for the Royal Bank ay Scotland. The last thing I want is everybody in ma office looking at me doing that online!

She was bound tae be a raver working for the Royal Bank. Eftir aw, these cunts went n fucked everybody! She doesnae stick aboot though, n ah like that. She’s the sort ay burd that’ll be thinkin aboot cock, but different cock, within an ooir. When she heads off, ah checks ma phone. Perr Ronnie’s left two messages, so ah shoots doon tae the Balmoral, still in a bit ay a daze. Lookin at the passin fanny soon sharpens ays up again but, it’s like a line a ching, n Auld Faithful’s twingein, like eh wants another feed, by the time ah’ve hit the fuckin Bridges. Then the idea ay ching starts burnin ays, so ah pills into this wee lane ah ken, in a turning oaf Chambers Street, n cut oot two enormous lines above the dashboard n take them up the Vespa scooter.

Ah’m flyin as ah gits parked up n intae the Balmoral reception. Ah sees Ronnie waitin, but the phone goes again, and this time THE POOF comes up oan the caller ID. Stupid really, ah’ll huv tae change that tae VICTOR, but ah cannae be ersed, n ah like seein it flash up. Ah waves doon Ronnie, whae’s takin a call ay his ain, n The Poof’s giein it the big yin aboot Jinty. — One of our scrubbers is missing, Tez.

— Aye, wee Jinty, still nae sign. Nane ay the other lassies huv seen her.

— Right. . She didnae say anything tae you. . aboot me, likes?

— Nup, never talked aboot you or the sauna at aw, ah goes, cause neither she did. And even if she had, ah widnae be grassin her up tae that cunt.