a little prick

i had friends, once, who would say to me: 'mister nora, my friend, you are always going out with the yukky boys. me, i am alone, my hymen intact and my panties perpetually dry. where do i go to lower my standards?'

they have long since settled down with shabby men so no longer need my advice, which is why it is rude and unhelpful of me to now finally reveal the place where i met my first unpleasant bang.

you must picture the scene. close your eyes. put on the gentle whale song. relax. touch yourself a little.


I SAID A LITTLE!

now.

it's mid afternoon. it's the eastern suburbs, the smell of grey hearts and bank balances wafts through the streets, and your parents are getting a divorce, again. your neighbour has just won a bmw in a raffle; but your neighbour already had a bmw. you've come from your job where you get paid $12.50 an hour for cleaning shit and vomit from the underpants of elderly folk ridden with malice, bedsores and ennui, and what you've earned today will just cover the cost of the strongbows and midouri that you'll drink in the park next weekend with your friends. next weekend, you'll lie in the grass and think of england while three metres away your best friend Belinda vomits bright green streaks into a manufactured concrete billabong. but today, you're wearing a hairy brown cardigan and a jaundiced white t-shirt, your jeans are two sizes too big, and the man you're meeting is wearing a leather vest. at the train station, the underpass leaks and the sparks fly. he's a truck driver, he's sporting a goatee, and girl, you'll be a woman soon.

does it make it more or less distasteful if i reveal that i first met him in an internet chatroom?

you're right, sweetness. more.

xoxox nora