Irvine Welsh - A Decent Ride

— Terry. . He hears her desperate breathing followed by stunned silence.

— How ye daein, doll?

— I’m having a fucking hard time! I fucking mean it, Terry. . I’m fucking stressed over the play. The bastards are changing everything. . Ronnie doesn’t care, he’s in New fucking York, he seems to feel his responsibility for it stops at writing the cheques! I’m taking all these pills if you don’t. . if you don’t. . come and see me. .

Terry ignores her, knocking solidly at the door in front of him. He hears scrambling.

The door opens and Sara-Ann is standing with her phone in her hand.

Terry clicks off his phone. — What ye waitin oan? Git thum oaf!

— Terry. . you came. .

— Soon fuckin will, and he steps forwards and slips his hand inside her leggings and panties. — Tell ays you’re no double wide. N gushing n aw, he whispers in her ear, as her head turns, and her tongue darts, lizard-like, into his mouth. Sara-Ann slams the door shut, and is pulling off her T-shirt and unbuckling Terry’s belt while rubbing against his busy hand. — Terry. . fuck me. .

As she drags him up to the bedroom, Terry, enjoying a mild teasing tug of resistance, then giving in, says, — Too right. You’re gittin it good style. .

As his keks drop and Auld Faithful springs from his pants like the one o’clock gun, he’s happy to endorse the playwright’s plea: — Give it to me. .

— For sure, Terry says, easing home. He’s thinking it’s not about Henry Lawson or Post Alec, reflecting that this is the only identity he ever really needed, as Juice Terry. His phone spills out of his jeans pocket and it goes off. He sees the name on the screen: RONNIE CHECKER. It’ll be about the flight bookings to New York and the golf tournament. It’s a pity he’s already just made a booking on to a Ryanair flight to Gdansk. Yes, there would be stacks of minge in New York, but it was a seven-hour flight. In just over three, he would be baw-deep in a sassy Pole. There was no contest.

But now there is immediate business to take care of, as Sal gasps, — I want this so fucking bad, her legs closing round him, forcing him deeper inside her, as she bucks and twists.

— Yuv goat tae but, eh, Terry grins, thrusting, humping and deftly swivelling his way to paradise, man and cock reunited in woman, — it’s the spice ay life!