F**k Yeah!, Al Calm [ebook reader online .txt] 📗

I'm proper feeling it after all! Hope I don't forget to sign on again tomorrow; that would be a total fucker but I'm well used to getting sanctioned!

;/

I stop thinking for a bit as the slow sore fuck thing flows into a proper loved up zoned out zombie slow fuck vibe. Think of two fucked up sweaty zombies fucking, like in Braindead or some shit like it. Real intense, like a bit cute. Nothing like a weird-as-fuck zombie fuck, end up drooling everywhere.

I feel sweat drops gather between me arse crack. Fucking funky for sure! She looks red faced, like real tired. I want to know her name, but she hasn't said. Maybe she's scared to tell me her real name, who knows she might be a bit posh. Or she don’t want me stalking her on fucking Facebook!

I can't be fucked to ask her anyway. She gasps, I gasp, then flinch as me dick burns again. Hurry up and cum dude, she says to me, I want to see this fucking set!

Sounds fucking mental! You know it! I say to her, still trying to get me breath back. Me cock's still hard, I don't know how. I ain't huge like some huge well hung porn star kind of guy. Never going to be called Donkey Kong. I suppose I'm average, fucking story of how me shit life pans out. Fucking lucky just to be average; make a load of shit tunes no one really likes, you got to give them away for fuck all and it the same with everything else too. I do have poor luck, so I suss that I'm proper born to lose! It all cool though, I'm fucked all the time anyway - shit, this no therapy kinda trip, I'm proper used to it all.

But I don't really think about that shit, not when you’re getting right on it, and I don't think about what my cock should be like either. I don't give a fuck no more. I want to be too busy fucking to care! I ain't bothered, but me cock's gone demon tonight! Don't ask how. Must have been Bungle's MDMA. Did I do all those trips, too? I hate having no fucking memory sometimes.

A bit of clear pre-cum trickles down me nut sack. I think I’ve cum it's just, you know, it ain't much? I say, trying to think of more to say, but end up mumbling that I can't feel a thing.

She giggles, staring at her kippered thong. We gaze at each other for what seems like an eternity but it probably just thirty seconds. I really like her.

I like you, let's just groove for a bit, I go to her, licking sweat off her face, smudging her silver lipstick. For a little girl, she's got moves.

What's your name again? I say, but she starts laughing at me. I look in her eyes and can't see her pupils.

Your eyes are fucked, she says to me.

Great, like I ain't heard that before!

I dig her like anything. She's getting bored, as the legendary IC3 hypes the crowd up even more. We can hear the vibes, the pulsating bass and drums vibrating through us, and we're both bang on it. Fucking bang on fuckers! We kiss real gently, a sweaty tender film kiss. Like they used to do in those soft focus 1970s porno flicks. It always corny but corny can be cool. I think I'm coming up again, me heart's pumping like some alien waiting to burst out.

Then her phone goes with a random ringtone, fucking Tinie Tempah or something. She grabs her mobile, real quick reflexes, giggling to herself. She starts sending a text message, texting real quick. Got some new iphone whatever thing. She takes a quick photo of me; maybe one for the scrapbook. Maybe to help with remembering shit in the morning. She don’t want me number to go to GUM with her, that’s for sure. Or she can track me on Facebook and ask for an AIDS test. Sure ain't forgotten to text real quick, though. Fucking kids, man. How they text that quick?

Everything she does makes me feel proper old. I got a mobile four years ago and still got it, it works, does the shit a piece of shit phone meant to do. And people, mainly the kids, think it looks like a relic already. Crazy! I ain't even old yet, though I am getting on. I don't get into it all too much.

And I ain't one for computer geek shit, I just figured out internet porn and left it at that. All that mobile shit can be proper fucking pricey and I just end up exchanging it, breaking it and using it way too much or just losing it. With me, same could be said for gear too!

After a while, she gives me one of those fucked-up pout looks, and after a bit more hippy-dippy face-licking she drops some pills with me, they’re some wicked ones called OAPs. We kiss on the lips as if we've just got married in Heaven.

I think they're me last ones, I whisper to her. I don't know why I'm whispering. Feel like Mouth from Goonies! Sure, I got some blue smileys and red peace and love's somewhere, too.

Maybe I'm getting para too, we could get kicked out for fucking in the bogs! Dig these vibes those, we get a bit emotional, like all deep. I think I'm crying, tears, sweat and UV paint all mixed together.

Yeah, she goes to me, I'm getting a bit sore now.

Sure thing, I say, though I'm thinking I got to get back into that tight little pussy again. Fuck me, fucking perfect! She really did have a tight pussy. I get all sorted and wipe me gooey dribbling cock with cheap bog roll.

She don't care, she don't bother putting her tights or thong back on, just slipping her hot-pants and Smiths T-Shirt on real quick, the tights and thong somehow manage to fit in her little bag thing. How do women fit everything in these little bags? Crazy - ain't it? I don't know. I think I need one sometimes. Stash bags. She smiles at me, kissing me slow. A slow good-bye random fuck kiss. I suddenly think: I hope she ain't got herpes like the other one but I did forget to get tested, too.

I'll see you in there, she says to me. I nod, thinking fuck yeah right! I ain’t ever going to see her again!

 

;)

I need to roll a zoot and then I’ll get out there, might as well crown a couple more pills. Skin up and crown should’ve been the name of me label! Yeah, I know we’ll probably not see each other for the rest of the rave. I try to look for her but I know it’s useless. She's vanished, for sure. It always happens. I never even said I was a DJ. Usually works with the ladies. I know, I'm a right sly cunt – a real ugly one too!

They don't know that I don't really do too much on the decks no more. I cashed me third-hand decks in, mixer's busted anyway, and done it all on a laptop. Still learning Reason and all that geeky nerdy shit. But fuck it, what a wicked after-party. I just love fucking raving, getting totally fucked and fucking pretty much whoever. When you just got dole, no-one can live off dole properly, you got to think how you can save and scam shit. You have to do it to top it up! I started subbing me flat out to some dudes time ago. Better than getting cuckooed but they're all crazy fuckers, every one of them, from all over the globe. Lucky for me they've all ended up in good old Blighty, Big Smoke chilling! I go back sometimes when one forgets to transfer me the rent, but it's fucking mental. Think there's six of them all squashed in there for fuck's sake. Smells like baboon shit, too. Not that I smell loads of baboon shit. Just smells like London, raw sewage poverty tripping. It just raw, need a zoot burning just to sweeten me nozzle!

I can't be fucked to think too much about it, but you got to shift a bit. I'm too soft to be a real dealer - as in a proper cold dealer fucker, like the big man - or whatever you want to call them these days. I hate chasing fuckers up, all the stress and hassles, getting angry at other fuckers moving to your punter; getting all paranoid all the fucking time. Fuck it, I can't be fucked. I ain't heavy with it. I can't be fucked with it all. Been there, done it. I am shit at it, I just like getting proper fucked up! Let it flow, let it flow, that’s me motto. In all honesty, real dealing – like shifting kilos, large amounts, not tiny bits – it's proper pure fucking stress! That’s when I clocked it all, getting stoned in an attic with Goofer. I just said to him that I just like getting loaded, he had no idea what I meant. I dig being a loyal consumer of funky shit. With total blind faith, the rave will save us all!

I shouldn't put it down. I'll probably get done under a terror law, where you can't say shit. All that political bullshit don't work with me as if they were all legal I'd be the best taxpayer ever and it'd be a society worth working for. At least they'd want you to have a wicked time and all the wicked times I had since I was well young, I been off me nut on all kinds of drugs. Acid, shrooms, weed, hash, pills, whizz, benzos, the lot. Fucking banging! I even surf some of the pharmaceuticals that get bashed down. The legit shit, fucks you right up innit. I didn't give a shit what they call it, whatever I get me hands on. Life's too fucking short, that’s for sure. And who wants to live to ninety and remember a dull life? If I ever reach the grand old age of ninety I might as well properly start shooting smack, instead of just toking it now and again, fuck it!

I used to go a bit crazy and be a bit of a contact fuck, ticking loads of shit and not paying for it, getting hunted, taking some beatings and heavy threats, just proper fearing everyone. I took some proper beatings and a fucked up run-in with a fucking brick cutter thing. That really shit me up for good. Proper changed how I looked, got some dreads, the whole Camden Crusty makeover.

I just ponce and tick and surround me self with slightly better off hangers on. I still get sorted, but I see myself as the link man, a safe ‘n’ sound dude to trust. A righteous one. I’m fair to everyone these days. It’s an easier vibe for an easier crew. And you got to jump around if you got the stamina!

I had a nightmare that I might forget who I really am. Me mind has proper blown. Got Energy Rush, nah it Energy Flash – that mad Joey Beltram tune! It's still caught in me mind, I fucking love that tune. Some mental night, all sweat boxed proper underground club, kissing random birds, I can’t even remember. I blink, time flies, bouncers want me to leave quickly and quietly. It must have been an Acid House vibe, everyone all happy and hugging at the end, proper loved up to the max!

 

8D

I get a few crazy mind-flashes of me mates, Custard Cream and Bungle Bob, shouting ACIIIIIEEEEEEED! down me ear, then right in me face.

Must’ve wandered into the Acid House arena, fucking mental fuckers! Can still feel the spit on me face! Maybe I’m just sweating, who knows? Need some junglist vibes after this, hoping they don’t cancel