MR PARLETT DOT COM

I walk in the White Heart and there she is at the bar, bright as a summer’s day.
She’s normally surrounded by blokes but today she’s here on her own, gazing wistfully out the window, a forgotten cigarette burning away in the ashtray.
I stand next to her and get the barman’s attention, ‘You alright Maggie?’ I ask.
She turns, her eyes focus on me and she smiles, ‘Hello George, how have you been?’
‘Oh not too bad, not too bad – you?’
She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, ‘I’m fine thankyou.’
‘What you drinking?’ I ask her as the barman arrives. She drains the last from her pint and stifles a burp; she smiles guiltily, holding the back of her hand to those rich lips of hers.
‘A pint of Stella please.’
‘Two pints a Stella please mate,’ I ask the barman.
Maggie offers me a fag but I decline and offer her one of mine instead, ‘Duty free,’ I tell her and she frowns disapprovingly but still takes the Benson.
‘What’s on yer mind?’
‘Oh,’ her expression sinks, ‘I was thinking back to the old times; the riots, the Belgrano, Brighton…everything…’
‘Oh come on – not this again.’
‘Oh George, I just can’t help but have… doubts…’
‘It was a long time ago love, c’mon,’ I put my arm around her and she falls against my chest. The barman sets down our pints on the bar and looks at me sympathetically.
‘Four ninety please,’ he asks and I pay him.
Maggie sniffs and shrugs away from my embrace, ‘I’m sorry George… I just…’
‘Not another word,’ I say, ‘Not another word.’
She smiles sweetly and raises her pint, ‘Cheers George, here’s to Britain.’
‘To Britain,’ I parrot, a surge of pride puffing out my chest, ‘You made her Great again.’
Maggie blushes and takes a long deep swig of her pint, I do the same and we both look at each other over the rims of our glasses; sexual ferocity brimming in our eyes.
‘George, I…’ she begins, setting down her drink and breaking our gaze, ‘I really don’t want to stay in here tonight…’
‘Oh, well I erm―’
‘But I don’t want to be alone,’ she blurts out, her hand creeping across to mine but her eyes still away in the distance.
We drink up and retreat though the icy November streets to her flat in Elson, ‘Sorry the place is a mess,’ she says, kicking away a pyramid of mail in the hallway.
‘Oh no, it’s fine,’ I say, thinking of the state of my own place.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asks as I move in on her, pulling her expectant figure to my own and kissing her desperately.
‘Not right now,’ I reply and Maggie groans as I squeeze a breast though her thin blouse. She claws with unabashed need at my belt and pulls down my chinos in one masterful action; sinking to her knees, my dog juts out with dumb intent at her beautiful face.
Maggie takes hold of it and tenderly licks up the length, sucking away the expectant juices her actions have created. After only a few moments I can feel my excitement rising, I tense and squirm and scrunch up my toes, she notices this and looks up at me, ‘Not yet you dirty boy,’ she says and guides me to the sofa. Brushing away a browbeaten looking cat she pulls down her trousers and lays back, ‘Come hither,’ she commands, spreading her legs and beckoning me closer.
I sink into her cunt and lap at her like some thirsty animal, after a few minutes she pushes my head away and demands impatiently, drool shimmering around her mouth, that I fuck her. Falling onto her I sink into her sopping hole, her juices spreading around my hair and balls but she’s still tight; surprising considering her age.
‘C’mon Maggie,’ I grunt, the mournful bleating of destitute colliery bands playing the tune to this glorious fuck.
‘Uh! I’m the enemy within Maggie, tell me, c’mon.’
‘Oh George, grab my arse, that’s it, oh! Fuck meeeeee…’
The cum is rising in me again so I close my eyes and imagine Cameron Diaz riding me on satin sheets covered in rose petals and that does the trick, urgh – I’m alright.
‘Oh Maggie, God,’ I spit. Her nails scratch up my back and she bites my neck hard enough to draw blood.
‘Shit… fuck… arghhhhh…’
‘Oh, fuck… Maggie, turn over… let me see your arse… turn over.’
‘You turn if you want to,’ she grunts, grabbing my arse and pulling me back deep inside her, ‘The lady’s not for turning.’
‘Oh FUCK, yeah that’s it!’ I scream, pounding deeper and deeper and Charlize Theron, Charlize Theron, Charlize Theron; the brass band’s getting louder now and I’m trying to stop myself coming by imagining Charlize Theron in white lace lingerie laying back and spreading her lithe form across the bed as Kirsten Dunst crawls towards her on all fours wearing nothing but an expression of pure indecent lust, ‘Oh, urghhhhhhmmaaaggiieeeee…’
‘FUCK ME GEORGE, OH GOD, YES!!’
Don’t come, oh fuck no Monica Bellucci tying me up and licking slowly down my chest towards…‘Oh fuck Maggie, urghhhhh, yeah… biggest majority since nineteen-forty-five!… yeahhhhhhuuurrrggghhhhhhh…’
‘OH SHIT… GEORGE… FUCKAHHRRGGGHHHHHH…’
Oh fuck I’m coming Scarlett Johansson, Scarlett Johansson, picture her face in the throes of passion, Scarlett Johansson…
‘YEEEEESSSS.’
‘URRGGHHAARGHHHHH!’
Shit, no, fuck… I roll off Maggie, sated and spent; her face glows, she closes her eyes and smiles blissfully. What a woman… Christ…but, when I came, shit it was awful – I’m fucking appalled…
When I came I had Scarlett Johansson’s bare naked body writhing in my mind…
How absolutely fucking disgusting.

Tags: Fiction, Nudity, Politics, Portsmouth