Birthday Party

Into the bar the gift-bearers come; one after one after one. There an ex-girlfriend, here a new chum. Soon, the warm exchanges and handshakes and presents are done. Now, the drinking has begun. There is no place for fists here tonight; not now, here with the boys and the girls.

Women, o what women! There's the fat easy one with massive tits, and a flat one who fucks strangers in toilets. None that he can screw tonight, none that I can enter tonight. And none strip naked and run through the streets, none put their hands through his hair, none even just kiss his lips, and none whisper love songs into his ear.

Soon the birthday song is sung, and soon the slurred goodbyes are done. Through the graveyard I & he, the birthday-boy human and me - his fist - wander home. No nymphs spring out from a buried tomb. No lantern of love pours light through the trees. No one says heh Mister, heh Master, take me now as you please.

Women, o for women! Naked and lovely, giggling and horny, sloppy and slutty! O, allow him two, one for each fist: worn like a glove or boxing glove, to punch up into the air with, to stride the streets with, to tower over the city with! To say: behold! I am a man with a cunt on each fist! Behold, city, and kneel! I have conquered such sirens as these!

But later comes my purpose. He lies alone, cold as a corpse, under his duvet; half drunk, and flooded with thoughts of nothing but cunt. My purpose is to grip and rub and squeeze, you know where, squeeze for little white pips, which after minutes drip, drip, drip, one after one after one, from a soon-forgotten ejaculate.