131 Pump Friction


Monday morning, gawping through black double glazing into a dimly lit car park filled with a mix of second hand and third hand cars that men can just about afford and new cars they can’t afford but they drive them anyway.
I’m tired. I make a brew and decide I don’t want to sit on my own in a cold room in front of a cold screen – I want to talk to someone.
I go to the maintenance department. It’s like home from home in there, comfortingly ramshackled, filled with lengths of wire and dead machines, burned out motors and grease  smeared tools, bolts and nuts both Imperial and metric and pumps with nothing to pump.
I’m looking for Bernie. Some blokes you avoid, some you seek out. He’s the kind of bloke you seek out.
I find his large frame settled in behind a panel of wires and fuses and lights that looks like it’s been wrenched from the wall of a Star Trek set. It doesn’t look like it has any other purpose but to flash on and off. It looks like it won’t flash on and off again, but Bernie is doing his best to coax a few more ons and offs out of the sorry piece of crap.
Talking of sorry pieces of crap…
“Now then Bernie. You look like a sorry piece of crap this morning.”
Bernie looks up. “Ey up, Luci. I’d normally tell you to fuck right off for that, but you’re right. A sorry piece of crap is what I am.”
He yawns a lion yawn, face slack with lack of sleep, chin stubble-mucky, shoulders eroded  by too many upright hours.
I say, “What the fuck happened to you? Where’s the bright eyed, bushy tailed lad I used to know.”
Bernie grins bleary. “That bloke is dead, mate, dead and buried. You know I were on nights last week, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Bernie talks while he works, huge hands shifting over the silent machinery. “Right, well shift ends Friday morning, but rather than going home to beddy byes like a sensible bloke would after a week of twelve hour nights, I go and do a stupid thing. I get into my car and drive all the way down to Shrigley Hall Golf and Country Club in deepest darkest Cheshire with my partner in crime, Friction, don’t I?”
I say, “Shrigley where? Golf and Country what? You and Friction? Jesus wept, what dragged you two reprobates down to the gentile surroundings of a Country Club? No offense, Bernie, but it’s not really you’re natural habitat, is it?”
Bernie shrugs, a bg paw gently grating chin stubble. “None taken, mate. None taken. As it happens, it were the works annual golf tournament, but I don’t expect you’d have been aware of this as you are ignorant of the pleasures of the game of kings.”
“I don’t golf.”
“No, you don’t, but I golf, and me and Friction were there to golf.”
I say, “Are you sure Friction was there to golf, Bernie? Everything he does is just an excuse to do the other thing he likes to do when he says he’s playing golf. You know, the other sport of kings…”
“…both of which involve balls and holes,” finishes Bernie. He shakes his head wearily. “Aye, I reckon that were always on the menu. Don’t get me wrong, it were a nice day out, knocking a few balls in, walking the links, a decent lunch and a few pots in the clubhouse. What’s not to like? But it were never gonna be enough for Friction.”
I say, “There’s never enough for Friction. Let’s face it, there isn’t enough fanny in the whole world for that lad.”
“You’re right there, Luci. Some blokes, the day they stop chasing it is the day they die. Friction’s one of those.”
Friction’s a great lad, but his cock’s secondary purpose is pissing. It’s primary purpose is to advise him on all the important decisions in life. If you want fuck stories, he’s the go-to bloke. He makes Oliver Reid look like Mary Whitehouse. The thing is, though, he’s the kind of bloke who’s fun to be around. He says ‘let’s go here’ and you go. He’s a leader. But what you have to remember is that when you follow him, he’s following his cock. Basically, you’ll end up being told what to do by Friction’s cock.
Bernie takes a swig of tar black coffee. “So the day were fine. We didn’t win the golf but we did ok. A good day was had by all. I reckoned the evening would be a few beers, a dinner then some quality shut-eye in our room at Shrigley Hall. I mean, fuck me, Luci, I’d been awake since three the previous afternoon! I’d had no kip in twenty seven hours! But then Friction gets wind of a wedding reception in the function suite next to ours. Before you know it we’re shmoozing with bridesmaids and morning suits, picking at canapés and applauding the first fucking dance of a couple we’d never seen before!”
I say, “So what did you do? Did you get fired into the bridesmaids too?”
Bernie rolls his red eyes. “Me? Fuck that. Not my scene, Luci, you know? Our lass is right enough for me, and besides, I’ve never had luck like Friction has. I could fall into a barrel of tits and come out sucking my thumb.”
He takes another pull at his coffee. “I were fading fast by then, so I called it a draw. I told Friction I were hitting the hay and I stumbled back to the room, leaving him doing the conga with thirty total strangers. I’ve never been so glad to see a bed, Luci. Honest, I were asleep before my head hit the pillow, good night Vienna.
“Well, it felt like I’d been asleep for all of thirty seconds when next thing I know I hear all this shushing and giggling. I were livid. I thought, ‘You cunt, Friction! I’m trying to kip and you make all this racket!’ but then I see he’s not alone. He were never gonna be though, were he? So I let one eye open a crack, take a look at what the cat dragged in. Friction were sucking the face of some ginger piece, tidy too, a bit like a young Anne Robinson.”
I say, “A young Anne Robinson? What, her off the telly? All nasty comments, winks and ‘goodbye’s’?”
“Aye, but that were after she’d given up drinking. Back when she were an alky she was a tidy bit of work, you know, were our Annie. Well anyway, he’s there necking with the Weakest Link when she suddenly cops sight of me! ‘Who the bloody Hell’s that?’ she whispers and I were in two minds whether to jump up in bed and shout ‘GOODBYE’ and tip her the wink, but I just lay doggo, pretending to be hard on.
“Friction says to her, ‘don’t worry about him love, he’s dead to the world – watch’ and the cheeky fucker kicks me! I grit my teeth and just roll over and start to snore. That were enough for her. Next thing you know they’re on the bed, bollock all on, at it!”
I say, “Fuck me! Did Friction honestly reckon you were asleep?”
“Did he fuck! He knew I were awake! He kept grinning at me while she were sucking him off! I’m calling him all the cunts under the sun without making a sound! Every now and then she’d say, ‘you sure your mate’s still asleep?’ and he’d say ‘course he is!’ and give us another kick to prove it!”
Bernie yawned again. I felt like I was going to fall in. “Well anyway, they’re shagging away next to me and I’ve got ringside seats. That lazy fucker Friction never once got off his back! He’s letting her do all the work, grinding away on top, reverse cowboy, sitting on his face, the lot. He never fucking moved. Well then she says, ‘ooh, I need a wee!’ and he says, ‘piss on me.’ “
I say, “What?”
“Aye, I know! That’s what she said n’all! “He says ‘piss on me’ and she says ‘WHAT??’ and  so he says, ‘go on, piss on me’ so she says, ‘you kinky bastard – alright then!’. I’m trying not to laugh out loud! There’s this Anne Robinson look-alike crouching over him, trying to push out a piss. She’s going, ‘NNNNNGGG!!’ and a few drops come out onto his belly. I honestly couldn’t believe what I were seeing! I were dying! After a bit she gives up and nips to the loo. The very second she’s gone Friction leaps on top of me, cock waving everywhere, shoving her fucking knickers into my face! I’m trying to fight the daft cunt off, trying not to touch his cock, me gob full of her used pants! The toilet flushes and he leaps back into bed and I start pretending to knock out the ‘Z’s again. She comes out and says, ‘What’s going on? Is your mate really awake?’ an Friction says no and tempts her back to bed and they get at it again.”
Bernie shakes his head. “Honest, Luci, they were at it for ages. Moaning and groaning and pumping away. I were getting bored, so fuck knows how she must have felt. So after a bit this lass says, ‘I’m getting tired, are you nearly done or what?’ and I let out a laugh that I try turn into kind of snuffle but he knows I’m laughing at him so he gets all prickly. ‘TIRED??’ He shouts. ‘TIRED? ‘I’ll give you tired! I’ve just done a week of twelve hour nights with this big daft cunt in the bed next to us, then I’ve come here, played eighteen holes of golf, downed fourteen pints o’ that overpriced piss that passes for bitter round these parts, danced like John fuckin’ Travolta at some fuckers wedding who I’ve never bloody heard of then I’ve rattled you from two till… what time is it?… half past fuckin’ four! TIRED?? I’ll show you fuckin’ tired!!’
“Well, he grabs Robinson’s hips, braces himself, and goes for it. His arse were going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow, fuckin’ her like there’s no tomorrow. She’s shakin’ all over the shop and howlin’ like she’s on a bucking bronco! The beds shakin’, the lamp falls over, pillows are flyin’ everywhere and I was watchin’ with open mouthed awe. He keeps it up for close on a minute when he suddenly shudders to a halt, panting a sweating on the bed. You could almost see steam rising of him. She says, ‘Wow! Did you cum?’ and he says ‘no love, I’m just fucked. I give in. I did my best. Get your coat an’ I’ll take you home.’ So they got dressed and fucked off, finally leaving me to get some sleep.”
I say, “Bloody Hell. I bet you slept like a log!”
Bernie says, “No. After all that action I were wide awake. I lay there like a tit for an hour  listening to the fuckin’ birds twittering then I got up. Friction came back a few hours later having fucked her again over most of Cheshire, climbed into bed and fell straight to sleep! He snatches two hours kip and he were right as rain. Me? I’m the walking fuckin’ dead.”
The machine suddenly comes to life in Bernie’s hands. He shakes his head.
“Tell you what Luci – you know your getting old when another bloke’s sex life knackers you out more than your own. See you later.”
Bernie carries the machine away, flashing and blinking on and off.
I forgot to ask him what it was for.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in The Stories. and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s