Popped cherry

This is for a friend of mine who really only see one side of the male mind, this is the side less travelled.

Just a cautionary tale, well if you’re reading this and thinking: Whoa! This sort of stuff is happening to me all the time....then, ah, gets help.

The smell of burning faeces is usually a sign that something has gone horribly wrong. And it was at the very moment that this smell wormed its way up David Mason’s nostrils like a poisonous snake that's really an old football sock. Did he stir from his drunken comatose bliss.

'Ah you have been cooking again, Hilda!' The thought drifted in front of his brain, disrespectful of his cousin's bizarre attempts to fit in to his new life.

He scratched an awkward itch while plodded, stretching and creaking to the bathroom. Groans of an animal like nature could be heard as his body recumbent shook itself from comforting apathy of sleep. The bathroom was chilly and hap-hazard carpeted a hundred different shades of red. A furious, continuous bang noise came from the water heater while the Hilda's determined black cat, phoebe. His head wobbled like a jack in the box.

A warm stream of urine meet the frozen porcelain, it was a long embrace as a night's worth of beer and god only knows evacuated itself from his body. The smell of was actually a refreshing change for Dave compared to the cow dung cooking for breakfast downstairs. He flushed the toilet and started the shower, while bathing himself he heard the mail crash through the box. He froze in the Luke warm water and dived down into the bathtub. Like soldier peering into no man's land he cautiously

Jessica passed her 16 year old form still recognizable through the frosted window. She was dressed in her usual short white tennis skirt, white puma trainers and white tank top, all pure and white. What had he done? Her tanned autumn leaves and beautiful arms and slender legs contrasting painful yet so perfectly with her beautiful and so seductive curves, already a feast on the eyes. Even the reshaping of the frosted glass couldn't disguise her hidden beauty.

She was on her way to the tennis practice, same as every Saturday her paper round on route.

That beauty he had depreciated with his lustful manoeuvrings last Thursday week. It had been a long day at the Shop, a painful week of sales a grilling from head office. A half-hour after he had come in, she was making the last deliveries of the day. She stopped for coffee that turned in to a Foster's, followed up by a can of maraschino cherries and tongue measuring contrast. He had been doomed from that point onwards. He required it of course; he would be a truly evil if he hadn't a 19 year-old college drop out. He should know better, not that it would have made a difference after the whipped cream and tears over Darren. Her boyfriend or father or Brother, or was it Shannon? He couldn't remember the predator instincts had taken over, everything else was the animal.

And natural since then he had avoided her, like you would a person with the plague. She had left no messages for him, other then the single word from her round trembling lips as he woke up.

'Sorry.'

As he dried himself after his showers he stared long and hard in the mirror at his macrocephaly head. Why had she even wanted to sleep with him had she been that drunk? And why was she sorry, true it was mutual event, him, her and the alcohol. But he was older he should be responsible. Not her. He would apologise to her, today. Right now. Or after work. After work that sounded better, he would be more relaxed then, yes.

'DAVE! THE PAPER!' The screeching of Hilda's voice. 'Now that is what a bat out of hell sounds like.' He chuckled to himself at the thought as he struggled with his jeans on his single bed. He fell as he tried to fit in to the overpriced; two sizes too small jeans that choked him around the waist. Still a bargain though, worth it enough to get a concussion half the time he tried to get them on.

Whack, went his Fender clattering among the junk in his room, tearing a gash in his John Lennon poster on the wall. 'Dammit!'

'DAVE!!' Hilda's voice was none the sweeter for having an ounce of concern in it, mainly because there was none. 'Dave, I have to go oot, your breakfast is on the table!' That was different, sweeter yes, not that Dave paid any notice to it. His cousin was only staying with him till she finalised some big deal he new client. Some London based fly-boy, new money, and fancy trains with toilets that clean your backside while asking if you need another cigar. He never paid any attention to Hilda, not for lack of caring she was his cousin after all. No she just spoke impossible fast German in a normal conversation, Dave knew very little and she was only going to be there another week at the most. He could cope with the relationship, for now. She was pleasant enough though. Her cooking was biological hazard aside from that she was lovely for a German; she was even lovely for an English person. And her food was perfectly edible in Germany, probably.

He descended into the smoke filled kitchen, and bared witnesses to Hilda’s attempts at an English breakfast. Bacon and eggs fused with the frying pan, a new one too. He surrendered to a groan, while switching on the fan to suck the smoke out the window of the air starved room, while a starved Dave chewed on a Mars bar.

He glanced over the Kitchen counter and obvious that Hilda had left the paper open on page 3 for him a topless blonde stunner staring at him seductively. Hilda was certainly helpful, in a very wrong, disturbing way. Maybe in German cousins found porn for each other, in England it just wasn't done, never done. Well in the upper classes, certainly. He noticed with surprise that a purple note lay on the opposite page, folded up. He stared at curiously while the he set some coffee brewing. He picked it up and played with the little purple card. It smelt strangely familiarly, as the coffee came to unexpectedly sudden boil, he opened it.

The handwriting wasn't anyone he knew, far too fancy, loops and twirls. 'Wonderful penmanship.’ ‘He quipped as he sipped on steaming coffee that filled his body with energy. Finally filling him with enough energy to read the eccentric handwriting. As the warm life giving fluid filled his being and radiated outwards, his mental cogs begun turning.

Page 2, Jess said that no guy ever reads page 2, they go straight to page three. She had said while they knocking back a Budweiser

'The world could be coming to an end on page two and no guy would know it! ‘Dave had been quick to response that had the world been coming to an end that would have qualified as front page news. He should know he had an A grade in Media. Then they had kissed, softly for the first time.

He shuddered at with the thought of that night, and then froze in horror. The door to hell had opened at his feet and it was cold. His eyes chased the worlds across the page. A sick feeling built with in him as he was drawn insatiable to read.

Dave,

I’ am so sorry about what happened, between us.

Please I didn't want to speak to you in person, not yet. That's why i left it in the paper where you know it would be from me. Page 2, right?

I had never done that before and I ' am sorry i took advantage of you, i know i did.

And i want to leave you alone. I want to take the whole night back but i can't because we have problem we have to talk about.

I 'all be at the park 5pm today, you know where the "apple tree" is.

I really need to see you, it's important,

Please come.

He stared blankly at the page. He could feel the words falling deeper and deeper into him. Till finally they hit and he shook as if physically struck.

'Your mind is supposed to be racing right now, feels like a traffic jam. Though.' He mused loudly. He sat and pondered quietly while scolding his knee with hot coffee, one phrase played on a loop in his mind.

'Big baby boy, big baby boy.’