Toni

I remember a girl I met while hanging around outside of a nightclub after closing time, when all the revellers reach a new natural high from the fresh air after being enclosed on hot stuffy dance floors for hours on end. She reminds me of another girl called Toni so I’ll just call her Toni. She was really friendly and sweet and we hit it off instantly. There was nothing two-faced or vulgar about her. She reminded me of a devout catholic with a humorous side. Decent, like, you know, someone you could trust. I could tell all of this by the way we bonded immediately. It was as though we’d grown up together in the same school or something. I felt relaxed and comfortable in her presence. She felt like a genuine friend.

At this point, aged only nineteen, I’d never had an actual girlfriend, although I’d just gotten into hardcore sex movies, so I knew what to do with them. Toni reminded me of none of the harlots I was viewing in secret however. The most I wanted to do with Toni was maybe sit on a park bench with her and lick a twin corneto. She was that kind of girl. I imagined inflating bouncy castles in gardens with her and erecting trampolines in youth clubs…seemingly typical activities which reeked of harmless fun. I don’t know why, but a series of commonplace scenarios flooded my mind. I thought of us working in a night shelter together, dispensing hot soup to the shivering homeless, and litter picking in the graveyard, making the headstones respectable again. It was weird. She made me want to be a better man. I didn’t quite see us as OAPs in matching unisex kagoules, but the stirring medley of less than conventional fantasies concerning the both of us wasn’t far off.

We lost each other in the crowd. It wouldn’t surprise me if I we were split up on purpose by covert community based operatives. Their interference of my life stems well back. I ended up getting pulled by a couple of ugly slags instead, and decided to go with them rather than retrace my steps and find her.

I never saw Toni again :-(

The pair of ugly slags had plans for me. They schemed my taxi-ferried course to their squalid home in the arse end of nowhere and plied me with 60% rum. I remember glugging it from the bottle greedily, eager to get psyched up so I could invade both sets of knickers. The idea of a threesome made me feel happier than a professional footballer scoring the winning goal in a World Cup Final. The more rum I consumed, the less they looked like a couple of witches in garishly applied cheap makeup. I was starting to get excited. Toni was a distant memory.

The next thing I remember is getting continually assaulted by the ugly slags and a couple of lads as well, who had appeared from an upstairs bedroom. I was on my knees vomiting from the rum and all of them were taking cheap shots with their boots, one after the other, kicking me in the jaw. I was too wasted to offer any resistance, crawling towards the door to get away from them. My shirt was torn open, buttons ripped off, and my gold chain, a birthday gift from my newly-acquired father, had been detached from around my neck. The filthy beggars had even removed my shoes. Lacoste, as a matter of fact, over a hundred notes brand new. I staggered out of there in the early hours of the morning, lost in a strange town, half naked, battered and bruised, wondering what the heck I was gunna do about it. Luckily, there was a garage nearby, where I was able to phone a friend for a lift back to the local den we often crashed out at.

That was the start to a bad day which included more ale, a heap of cannabis, and the advent of crucial hardcore sex movies which ushered in with their portentous arrival gobs of character ideation and compulsive obsessions as my elasticated brain was still evolving to work out what kinds of perversions my psyche was most primed for taking to. Big boobs and pop shots, it would appear to be.

The lads were all watching a particular video which showed some ‘adult actors’ flaunting their wares on a leather sofa. It was a threesome, if you’re interested. You got it bang right – two ugly slags with makeup on. And a fella who was no doubt feeling how I’d almost felt several hours earlier – that World Cup Final thing – except he was living out the dream for real and also, most noticeably, aside from getting paid, he wasn’t getting kicked in the face by them while he was doing it. I severely doubted they were gunna turf him out on his ear as well, to find his own way home in just his socks.

The male’s ‘money shot’ was a blinder. Quite literally. Just what I had had in mind before my mugging. I should know, for I sneaked it out of the video recorder once the movie was finished and shuttled it away back to my unfurnished council flat, where it was to be viewed time and time again in solitude for a multiple of shameful years to come, until both sides of the tape were worn out. Then I bought it on DVD, once that technology arrived on the scene! You might be relieved to know that I do not still own a copy of it now, on any format…

That was to become a trait of mine, stealing/owning/repurchasing the same adult movie more than once or twice. I had one flick on video, then DVD, then a download. Although, in my defence, I have never ever watched a smutty film on a smartphone. Probably because I have never owned a smartphone, for just that reason.

Why oh why didn’t I go back to Toni’s, for coffee and hot cross buns in front of the fire? We might still be together now, at this present day, if I had, because the more I think about her now, the more angelically paramount she assumes to be in my 3^rd eye. Compared to that experience, and the life that has followed it, who wouldn’t be perfect? Who knows what might have proceeded from that not-to-be fateful meet? Like Lauren from yesterday, Toni is remembered into the special shrine of my reminiscences.

Lord, I sincerely regret choosing those tarts over Toni, and subsequently becoming infatuated with that consequential adult reel of tape.

I am sorry. Love 2 Toni <3

I pray that I will never again make such a poor decision, should I ever get another chance at fellowship with an important angel of sorts, even if it means not clinching the deciding goal. You know, in that World Cup Final thing.