Angel 16 (second base)
Pizza Face waited religiously for Angel parked in his Jaguar every night and weekends before work. The main roads and backroads they’d travelled like gypsies touring and talking non-stop grew smaller as the darker nights came in. All roads seemed to lead to the same spot at Cochino where he’d park the car, where he’d turn the lights off and the music up.
She no longer wore a bra because it was too much hassle taking it off. She wore loose, yellow or peach coloured T-shirts, or blouses with big buttons a child could unbutton. He treated her body like a three-course meal, starting with kissing, moving on to him hoovering and lapping at her neck with his tongue and kissing, butting, and licking at her breasts. She held the back of his head and stroked his necks making the appropriate noises. Staring over his bobbling head, out of the car window at the dark sky, she felt for the rain clouds over the Old Kilpatrick Hills. Sometimes she saw lights and the trees looked low flying. Depending on her mood, she turned the tapes down and up, depending on the tract, and sometimes off. Comforted more by the little sounds of animals, distant hoot of an owl and the sleeping land
She was sinking and pushing against time like the rush and ripple of burns. She knew it would come and she was ready for it, when he’d grown bored with the smell and taste of her and wanted more. His hand wandered down to the flat of her belly and forcing its way in between the three-buttoned band of her denim dress.
‘Oh, Baby,’ he grunted, lifting his head and kissing her until her lips hurt. Pushing with the sides of his Dr. Marten boots, until he was out of the driving seat and crushing her with his hard body. Fingers spidering in between her lace knickers.
‘Don’t,’ she grabbed his wrist.
But it was more the hurt tone of her voice stopped him. He pulled his hand away. Shifting over until he was sitting across from her, deflated. ‘Sorry.’
The horn section of Chicago’s, If you leave now, sounded on the tape as she buttoned up her shirt, and for once he didn’t stop her. She glanced at him sideways. ‘Probably best if you take me home.’
‘Aye,’ he said, his voice chocking. ‘It’s just I get frustrated, you know.’ He sat up straighter. ‘Right, hame it is.’
She held a hand over her mouth, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve spoiled it.’ Her head dropping into her chest and she cried.
‘No, it’s alright,’ he rubbed her arm. ‘It’s no any bother.’
‘I know men have got needs,’ she cried, batting his hand away. ‘And I’m really sorry. I’ve let you down.’
‘Och, don’t be so daft.’ He flung a hand over her shoulder and when she didn’t resist pulled her over so that she was sobbing on his chest. ‘You make it sound as if men are like a washing machine and you push certain buttons and, hey, presto.’
She laughed a little at that, and she could hear the beat of his heart. ‘I wish.’
‘I mean I was disappointed that you do keep putting aff coming back to my place. If you know whit I mean? I think you can tell, I dae want to make love to you, but sex is sex. And I love you for you and I respect you.’ He sniggered, ‘I do get so fucking horny. But I jist go hame and have a right good fucking wank. And then I’m right as rain again and good to go.’
‘I don’t like you talking like that.’ But she pushed her head up and tilted her chin and he pecked at her sore lips. It’s dirty.’
His hand slid in between the top buttons of her shirt and cupped her breast, the top of his forefinger flicking her nipple.
‘I mean I know I’ve been a bit of a…’
He clamped down on her lips, sucking on her smoky breath, like a hundred-pack-a- day man their tongues melding. She lifted her hip. The fingertips of her left hand brushed against his shirt and the rough brass button of his denim and fondled the bulge beneath his zip and felt his body jolt. His kissed almost buckled her teeth, when he pulled his zip down and unbuttoned his denims, his hips and bum rising to meet her warm fingers through his boxer shorts. He closed his eyes, his body shaking, his breath coming in short pants. The oily scent of his sex was part of the recycled air of the car heaters and blowers.
She pulled her lips and face away and her hand slid away from his penis. His glazed eyes popped open and he grunted. ‘I think I came in my pants.’
‘Well, you’re easy pleased,’ she wiped her hand on his trousers at the top of his thigh.
‘You want me to take you hame noo?’ He stretched his legs as he pulled up his zip and buttoned his denims. He sounded cheerful, suddenly more sure of himself, eyes glistening. ‘I need to get back anyway for work tonight.’
He leaned across to kiss her, but she moved her mouth and he kissed her cheek. She smiled, resting in the glow of his merriment. ‘You’ll need to get changed.’
Catching her glancing at the stain on his leg, he laughed. ‘Och, no, naebody would notice that.’
‘Aye, nothing ever escapes you.’ He kissed her again, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. His rough hand on top of her soft hand, pulling it across, claiming it as his own and guiding her to cupping the top of his lap and thigh. The flat of his hand pressing down on hers, until she felt his penis stir. He used his right hand to unbutton his trousers and waited.
She unzipped him. He was softer this time, but grew in his hand as she jerked him off. He pulled at the back of her neck, trying to push her head down towards his penis. But she resisted. ‘I don’t do that.’
‘You know. Oral sex. A machine spit and wash.’ She giggled. ‘Have you got a rag or something, for when we’re finished?’